New World, New Hopes
by The.Random.Placeholder
Summary: Betrayed by the Wizarding World, Harry is sentenced for execution...but the Veil isn't an execution tool. Thrust into Alagaesia, how will Harry cope with new pressures for being a Rider? Post-DH.
1. Prologue & Chapter 1

Warnings: Some language eventually.

Just assume that anything that can exist at this rating, might. Nothing explicit, nothing too gory. But I wouldn't know what to highlight as a warning.

_Start_

Harry would have shivered, but the strength to move his arms wasn't there. Nearly 3 years in Azkaban, paired with less food than the _Dursleys_ gave him, did that to a person. And that wasn't including the beatings that the guards would give him on a bad day. Nor did it count the two dementors occasionally gliding by his cell. Dementors had been removed from Azkaban, but the Ministry, fueled by Ron's vindictiveness, ensured that he'd have a couple there: _just for him_.

With his current state and the dementor's ever-helpful presence, he wondered why he'd bothered to rid the wizarding world of Voldemort in the first place. Hell, he'd constantly suffered in one way or another due to Magical Britain. Whether it was Dumbledore's placing him with the Dursleys, his isolation during the Chamber of Secrets incident, the scorn during the Triwizard Tournament, the mockery during the Umbitch – er, Umbridge year, or his outright persecution when the Ministry was taken over. He'd suffered more during his first 18 years of life than the rest of Britain had in their entire life, sans the Death Eater victims. Why did he save them? Harry couldn't remember, but it was too late to reconsider, he supposed.

And yet, they had the gall to lock him up. Were he able to, Harry probably would've done one of three things: Kill himself, Leave Britain and live as a muggle, or become a new Dark Lord, regardless of how hypocritical that was. But no, he was locked inside Azkaban with two personal dementors. Too bad he'd killed Voldemort already, or there might've been a jailbreak. Such a pity, really.

A pass of a dementor's chill broke Harry out of his musings, and rough, loud footsteps now echoed in his empty ward. As he was too weak to get up, Harry patiently waited for the footsteps to reach his cell. It was probably just a guard who wanted to vent his frustration on Harry-the-sitting-duck. Yes, he made a new hyphenated name, so what? At least this one was accurate and appropriate for once.

Due to his foreboding, it was no surprise to hear his cell open. What _was_ the surprise was the soft, still timid voice from years ago whisper. "Harry?". At this, Harry opened his eyes and stared into the face of Neville Longbottom. His once round face had become a bit more square and rough, but it was definitely Neville the Underdog.

Realizing that the other man was waiting for a response, Harry smiled a weak, disingenuous smile. "An auror now, Neville?" his raspy voice choked out.

"Yeah, Harry"

"So what're you doing here? Unless you're a new guard, but you're not depressed enough to be"

"Well, I'm supposed to escort you to the Ministry. Your sentence is being cut short."

"Really? So Ron and Hermione are coming here instead?" his tone was skeptical.

"No, Harry," Neville grimaced, "I'm supposed to escort you to the Veil for execution. I'm sorry" the look on his face reeked of genuine regret.

Recalling the dream he'd had the previous night, Harry lifted his eyebrow. "Well, let's get going then. Any moment away from these Soul-Suckers" he glanced toward the dementors patiently waiting, "is a half-decent one".

_Dream_

_He was in a huge space of nothing. Everything was white, there was no depth but for the invisible floor._

"_Rest easy, childe, it'll all be over soon"_

"_What are you talking about? Who are you?"_

"_Why childe, I'm right behind you"_

_Absently noting that he had the strength to turn around in his pre-Azkaban body, Harry was stunned by a woman glowing with ethereal light. It was strange; he knew she was beautiful in every way, but he could only look at _her_, and not see the individual features._

"_Calm, childe, and listen. All will be over soon"_

"_You mean I'm going to die soon?"_

"_No, you'll go somewhere far, far away. The Archway of Death is a tool of _Judgment_, and will send you away where you'll be needed and be content."_

"_What do you mean? Archway of Death? What is that? And who are you?"_

"_I am Magic. And all will become clear soon. But I must go now. Take care, childe"_

_With that, the ethereal being faded away, and Harry returned to the plagued, tortured memories in his dreams._

_End Dream_

"Hey Neville? D'you think we can go to Gringotts before the Ministry? I need to sort out my affairs and write a will"

Personally, Neville couldn't believe how easily Harry was taking this. He was going to die in a matter of hours, and he was asking to go to the bank! But he couldn't really deny the person who'd given him confidence and pride. Not even if he asked to escape, probably. So Neville agreed.

_One hour later_

A shower, a change of clothes, and a strengthening potion later, Harry was walking into Gringotts Bank. He waited patiently for a teller to become available, and quietly spoke.

"Hello, Master Goblin. I was wondering if Griphook is free at this time"

The teller would've sneered, but realized that the stranger had said 'Master Goblin'. No one displayed them respect, so he simply chose to answer the question. "Yes, I am available at this time, Mr. …?" he inquired.

"I can verify my identity in private Master Griphook. An inheritance test will prove it. And thank you in advance for the time". Wordlessly, Griphook led the stranger to his office, took out a blood testing parchment and ritual knife, and handed them to the stranger.

Harry cut himself and waited for three drops of blood to fall before his wound sealed, a result of the knife. Griphook peered curiously onto the parchment and stared at it shocked.

_**Harry James Potter-Black**_

_**Lord of the House of Potter**_

_**Lord of the House of Black**_

_**Blood Heir to the House of Windsor**_

_**Magical Heir to the House of Windsor**_

_**Blood Heir to the House of Gryffindor**_

_**Magical Heir to the House of Gryffindor**_

_**Magical Heir to the House of Hufflepuff**_

"Lord Potter-Black, I must say it's a shock to see you've escaped Azkaban" Griphook started.

"I haven't escaped. This stop is a detour before I supposedly get executed. And please Master Griphook, please call me Harry," he calmly responded.

If Griphook didn't remember how much Harry had worked to be forgiven by Gringotts for breaking in to get Hufflepuff's Cup, he would've been shocked again. However, he gathered his composure. "If you'll forego the title as well, Harry. Now, what may I do for you?" a worried tone – a first, for a goblin to worry about a human – crept into his voice.

"There are two things. One, I want to visit the Black vault. Afterward, I'd like your assistance in writing a will. If you'd oblige, I'd also like your help in carrying it out and enforcing a few of the tenets I plan to put into it. You'd be well-compensated, of course"

After the War ended, Harry had done Gringotts a lot of favors to be forgiven and to establish a friendly relationship with them. What happened exactly was strictly between him and Ragnok, the President, but it was well known that Mr. Potter was to be treated well.

"Why, yes, I'd be willing. I'm your account manager, after all. So, what can I do for you…?"

_Ministry of Magic, Department of Mysteries, Elevator_

"Neville, who are we meeting at the Ministry?"

He didn't want to refuse Harry, so he reluctantly gave in. "We're going to see the Weasleys, Luna, the Minister, and the Undersecretary. Malfoy is minister, and Marietta Edgecombe is Undersecretary."

Noticing that Neville was still nervous, Harry stopped. "Neville, don't be scared. It's sad to see Malfoy as minister and have a final meet-up with Ron & Hermione, but it doesn't matter."

"But Harry, you know you're innocent and you're going to die!" How was Harry taking his death so calmly?

"If you'll check for listening charms and swear an Oath not to tell a soul what I'm about to say, I'll explain" After finding no charms and swearing a Wizard's Oath, Harry continued, "The Veil isn't just an execution tool. It's an instrument of Judgment, and takes appropriate action. Hell, they probably chose the Veil because they think it's ironic, Sirius and then me."

He spoke further. "I don't really know what'll happen, but I don't think I'll die. Neville, you're freaking out more than I am, and _I'm _the one walking through. Just promise me one thing: If they decide to start torturing me one last time, just banish me into it, please?"

Dumbly, Neville nodded. The elevator reached the proper floor and opened. Harry, feeling weak, quickly downed another Strengthening Potion. It was temporary, but this wouldn't take long, hopefully.

The duo stepped out and took a familiar route to the Veil. Waiting there were some familiar faces. Luna stepped toward him first, dreamy voice ever-present. "The Nargles are going to move soon."

Anything further was cut off as familiar bushy-haired and carrot-topped heads pushed past her. "If it isn't Potter? Ready to die, traitor?"

Impassive enough to outdo a Malfoy, Harry responded. "I believe you're mistaken, Mr. Weasley. If I don't recall, you betrayed me to steal more of the headlines, fame, and gold. All things which I never wanted nor needed in the first place. Are you sure you're not addled in the head?"

And with that, an shouting match ensued among the Golden Trio. Well, two shouters and one level-voiced debater. And it carried on. And on. And on. Until Ron got annoyed and silenced the supposedly-unarmed Harry. (In visiting the Black vault, Harry had checked the wands for compatibility. He pocketed three – Sirius's Regulus's, and the wand of Phineas Nigellus.)

Eventually, a familiar, smug drawl echoed. "Well well, if it isn't The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Betray, Harry Potty." Though it wasn't loud, the cutting voice of Draco Malfoy silenced all others. "Anything to say, Potter? Or shall we just get on with this?" it seemed that 4 years left to his own devices had brought back Draco's haughtiness.

"Actually, yes. One, you've only regressed in maturity since first year. Two, how is this going to happen? Are you supposed to read something out, or do I just silently walk into that Archway?"

"Now Potter," Malfoy drawled in a pseudo-aristocratic manner, "that'd be too simple. Since there's no guarantee you'll just walk in as instructed, Auror Weasley will be placing you under Imperius to ensure it. And, that's it. Weasley, get on with it."

Ron approached again, a gleeful smirk on his face. "_Imperio!"_

"Punch yourself in the face". At those words, Harry felt a slight urge to do as instructed, but he quickly drowned the temptation. Was Ron an idiot? Harry'd been able to repel the Imperius since he was fourteen! And that was a strong-willed Imperio by Crouch Jr. at that! Compared to Crouch, Ron had as much willpower as a flobberworm.

However, Harry didn't feel like letting them know that quite yet. Jerkily, as if to imitate a struggle, Harry lifted his arm and curled his hand into a fist. He slowly brought it up to rest against his right cheek, and let it lay there, no force applied. It didn't take long for Ron to scream.

"PUNCH YOURSELF!" Despite the louder tone, Ron's will didn't strengthen. If anything, it wilted. Deciding that play was boring, Harry let his hand fall and spoke, "I hope you all will be attending my will reading. It'd be such a shame to miss out on what I've left you, after all"

Sneering, Draco stepped up. "Clearly you're just weak-willed Weasley, I'll take care of this. _Imperio!" "_Beat yourself, Potter"

If Ron was a single flobberworm, Draco had the strength of a flobberworm army. Yet, they were still flobberworms. "Pathetic, Draco. And you call yourself a Dark Arts practitioner? I can see why Voldemort cared so little for you. Weak and haughty, just like dear old Lucius"

Neither Ron nor Draco passed up the opportunity to hex him. After a bone-breaking curse on both arms, a bat-bogey hex, a Jelly-Legs Jinx, a Trip Jinx, a Reductor curse on his ankle, and several _Diffindos_, they let up.

"Now, Potter," Draco straightened himself again, "_Imperio!_ Beat yourself up"

"I think I'll pass and just get the execution over with. Bye, Neville, Luna. Be sure to come to my will reading." And with that, Harry tried staggering to the Veil thirty feet away.

As if to deny him relief, Ron and Draco resumed their cursing. Thankfully, their incensed state affected their aiming, but not too much.

Twenty-five feet. Draco landed a Crucio. Needles jabbed into every inch of skin and his blood felt like it was burning. If it weren't for his strength of will, he would've stopped.

Twenty feet. Ron threw a _diffindo_, lacerating his back open. Didn't seem to hit his spine, thank Merlin.

Fifteen feet. A bone-breaker curse on his ribs. It killed, he could feel his lung compress. Breathing was difficult.

Ten feet. A Vomiting Curse. The pitifully little in Harry's stomach was soon spilled onto the floor. He heaved, and his lung was punctured by a rib. A few more staggered steps.

Five feet. Blood-seeping curse. All his wounds re-opened, bleeding profusely. Every muscle was laden down with lead.

One step away. Another bone-breaker. Damn, Malfoy wasn't creative. His collarbone got hit, this time. Damn bastard was probably hoping for his skull.

As Harry fell into the Veil, he took one glance over his shoulder. Hermione was glaring, but silent, apparently content to let Draco and Ron dish out his misfortune. Speaking of the two, they were still firing. One nearly got him. An _expulso_ curse struck the tiling at his foot, the force of the explosion blasting him into the Veil.

His last sight was Neville's hesitant thumbs-up and Luna's mixed face – grief, regret, and coldness. As he fell into inky blackness, the peculiarity struck him. Did she regret her thoughts? Or had she always known, simply being unable to do anything? But that was a lie, the _Quibbler_ had sided against him in the end.

With that last thought, Harry slipped into unconscious, and left the planet Earth.

_Alagaesia, the Burning Plains_

With the battle over, the camp seemed dead. Most that weren't being tended to in the hospital were quietly resting in their tents. Were it not for a sudden gale appearing near the center of the encampment, it may have been quiet.

Yet there was a gale, and a large crack. Standing in a previously open space now stood a large archway. Formed out of an uneven but smooth black rock, it encapsulated a fabric of darkness. No one was witness to a bloody, broken Harry Potter falling out of the Archway. His wounds refused to close, and blood crept over more and more of his discolored skin. His arms looked misshapen, and his ankle was twisted the wrong way.

No, it would be a few more seconds until a curious Angela emerged from her makeshift home and spotted the broken body. She rushed over and found to her amazement that the person was still alive.

She barely noticed the looming Archway as she hefted the body up and carried it onto a spare bed in her tent. Solembum was awake and waiting for her as she fussed over the near-corpse.

'_Who is this'_ the cat inquired

'_I don't know. He was just lying there, broken and bleeding. And the battle ended hours ago! He wasn't there before. There was just some dark door behind him'_

'_Will he live?'_

'_I don't know. Probably not, but I must try_' Closing the mind connection, Angela bustled about the tent, grabbing various herbs and salves.

Twenty minutes later, it seemed hopeless. Nothing she had was having any effect. He'd die within the hour from blood loss. Yet, it seemed Magic had a couple more gifts to impart. A soft humming reverberated throughout the tent, snapping Angela out of her mood and capturing Solembum's attention. A flash of blinding light burst, and when Angela could see ten seconds later, she was shocked.

Levitating above the body were three objects – a wooden stick, a ring, and a silvery cloak. As if sentient, the cloak folded itself and lay atop the man's breast. The wand and ring settled atop the cloak. With that, the person began glowing silver.

Several things followed. Out of all the open wounds, an inky blackness poured out in droplets and sank into the floor. The dozens of lacerations ceased bleeding and started closing. Angela watched in awe as a particularly jagged cut along the man's shoulder and collarbone faded into nothingness, replaced by unblemished skin.

That was another thing, the skin. Before, it had seemed sickly beyond belief. Where it wasn't disheveled, it was the black and blue of fresh bruises. If not that, then the faded yellow of bruises on top of bruises. Now, the colors were fading into a pale but healthy pallor. It wasn't alabaster white, but mildly tanned.

The misshapen arms began righting themselves abruptly. With a snap, an ankle was healed and re-set. The numerous broken bones reverted back into position.

As the silver glow faded to nothing, a new body lay on the bed. All in all, it looked like there had never been an injury to begin with, let alone life-threatening ones.

As Magic's final well-wishing gift, a loud _pop_ resounded as a large trunk materialized next to the bed.

That's the end of the Prologue/Chapter 1. Review?


	2. Chapter 2

Warnings: Hatred, Vengeance…wait, that's not a warning, that's a spoiler.

I'll try to keep this going at a somewhat leisurely pace – maybe a chapter per week or two. I try to always have one chapter written beyond what I post, so that I don't run myself into any situations I can't write myself out of.

Note: When Harry gets out of Azkaban, he's 20. He was thrown into Azkaban several months after the Final Battle, and stayed in there for nearly three years. In Alagaesia time, the story starts off at the end of Eldest.

**Chapter 2**

While the stranger slept, Angela could be found intruding on a meeting between Nasuada, Arya, Eragon, and Roran. The Archway was still there, but no one had approached it too closely yet. Thankfully that is, as there was no idea what the thing did.

"Angela, this is a surprise. Has something happened?" Nasuada inquired.

"Yes, actually…" and Angela related the story of seeing the body lying in front of the strange Archway, how her healing was seemingly fruitless, the three objects, his miraculous recovery, and the trunk. Besides the story itself, Angela left out her usual eccentricity.

If Nasuada were to raise her eyebrows, they would've disappeared above her hairline. "Is anyone watching him right now?"

"Yes, Solembum is still in my tent"

"Then we'll wait until he wakes and try to understand what's happening then" Nasuada concluded.

Arya spoke up, "I'll check this archway and see if I can determine what it is."

To say Arya was surprised would be an understatement. There was nothing she'd _heard_ of that could resemble this. The only clue seemed to be some runes written on the arch itself.

'_Wait, that's written in an early Ancient Language_' As languages evolved, some words and writing characters died out or were created. Arya searched her mind for the meaning, and slowly pieced it together in her head.

"_Pass the Judged through here, for I Know all. May the Sinners die. May the Falsely Accused suffer nothing. May the Deeply Betrayed be given life anew."_

After processing just what the phrase meant, Arya Svit-Kona took a breath. It claimed to be some old instrument of Judgment. Criminals would die by passing through. Nothing would happen to innocents. But for the 'Deeply Betrayed'…would they be sent somewhere else? Was the stranger being given a relief from a past life?

Resolving to find out more at a better time, Arya left the Archway alone.

_

Light. It was too bloody light out. Suppressing a groan, Harry struggled to open his eyes. An unfamiliar setting greeted him. It he didn't know better, he'd say it looked like an apothecary, with all the strange herbs strewn about.

'_Bloody hell, where am I?'_ With a burst of strength, Harry struggled into a sitting position on his bed. The first things he noticed were the Deathly Hallows sitting on his lap, but he was too curious of the surroundings to pay much attention to it.

His earlier assumption of an apothecary was correct. Cross that with a small living space, and that's where Harry was. There was a black cat with red eyes lying contentedly in a far corner, eyes watching him.

There was something wrong about that cat. It wasn't normal. Almost like Professor McGonagall's animagus form…was that it?

"You're not a normal cat, are you?" he voiced his assumption aloud.

_Well, aren't you a smart one?_ A voice echoed in his head, surprising Harry.

"How did you do that?" he queried.

'_It's simple. Reach out with your mind to communicate'_ Well, damn if that wasn't vague. Harry tried doing as suggested, and found a slight connection. Following it, he found it led to the strange black cat.

'_Like this, then?'_

'_Already? I'm surprised_'

'_Not many can communicate this way?'_

'…_You are an interesting one. First your appearance, and now this'_

Harry didn't notice Angela enter the tent, who decided to interrupt the conversation.

"Ah, you've waken," she smiled. "How are you feeling?"

Harry pulled back into his own mind. "Erm, disoriented, but I feel fine. Where are we?" he inquired.

"We're in the Burning Plains." Harry looked blank. "Northern border of Surda." No change in expression. "Alagaesia." Still nothing.

Angela sighed. "There was a battle here recently, and this is the encampment for the forces of Surda, the dwarves, and the Varden." Harry smiled weakly, but it was fake to even the most oblivious people.

"Do you know how you got here?" the healer asked.

"Yeah… I walked through the Veil, though it was expected to kill me."

"What?" she exclaimed. "Why would you?"

"Because it's a form of Judgment," Arya broke in, stepping into the tent fully.

_

The number of attendants at Harry Potter's will reading didn't set a record for quantity, but for the sheer number of rich, powerful, or famous people in the Wizarding World.

"Now, if everyone will settle down, we may begin this procedure," Griphook announced. When they failed to quiet, he cast a silencing spell on the entire audience. Then, he lifted a pensieve, said an incantation, and poured a memory into the basin. A blue glow resulted, and a holographic form of Harry emerged from the instrument. Without prompting, he began speaking.

"I, Lord Harry James Potter-Black, being of sound mind and free will, do hereby declare this my will upon death or otherwise noteworthy disappearance from the Wizarding World. And there goes the stereotypical line you hear in wills.

I will not be doling out all my possessions to random people and my betrayers, but I do have many matters of business that simply couldn't be done while in Azkaban. So, people, pray that you come out of this unscathed. It's already been put into effect anyway, so you might as well find out what I've created for you all.

First off, I leave to Neville Longbottom 10,000,000 galleons. Yes, I know Neville that you don't really need it, but you can't refuse. Take it as a token of thanks.

To Luna Lovegood, I will leave 1,000,000 galleons on several conditions. One, that Neville oversees all expenditures. Two, that you run a front-page article, distributed freely in three days, that details the entirety of my will, analysis of all my inclusions present too. Third, you must hire several muggle lawyers to do the analysis, and publish what they say, verbatim.

Should you refuse, I leave you two knuts and my pity.

To Dobby, I bestow every pair of socks I have in my possessions, and one hundred galleons, because I know that you'd explode if I gave more. I hope you enjoy the rest of your life, and find a decent employer.

To Teddy Lupin, or Theodore Remus Lupin: I declare you my heir in magic, and bestow upon you the Lorships of the Potter and Black Houses. Should you take up the offer, I also have some of my blood stored to make you my blood heir and the blood heir of Potter house. Regardless, you may take up the Lordships when you turn eleven, and you're to be given a new will-reading.

Teddy, there's a lot I wish I could say to you. A lot that I regret not being able to do, chiefly because of traitorous bastards like my and your parents' friends. I'd like to apologize, even though it's not my place, for your parents' deaths. Since you won't have many, if any, memories, I've deposited all my memories involving either Remus or Tonks into a pensieve that you can access in Gringotts upon request.

Oh, and I forgot: I give you my 1/3 share in Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes. I know that's just part of the Potter fortune, but still. It's noteworthy.

I've made a number of arrangements with Griphook for you. When you're eleven, you're to be granted access to those memories regardless of whether you know of them, and Griphook will ensure you are aware of them, in person. Plus, you'll be given a private will reading.

At fifteen, I've copied the memories my entire life for you to see – I don't trust Britain not to turn me into a pariah, a would-be Voldemort, so I thought you should experience them. It doesn't give you emotions and thoughts, but actions should be self-evident. And the pensieve has been spelled to record all my memories up until the moment I enter the Veil.

Anything else I'm forgetting to say has already been left as another document with Griphook, so don't be surprised if something new crops up. And of course, I've left you a trust vault for luxuries, refilled every year. And I refuse to say the amount in a public reading, so…sorry.

To Andromeda Tonks nee Black, I entrust you with the care of my godson. If you are incapable, I expect you to find a suitable caretaker whose last name does not start with an accused death eater's, Weasley, Granger, Lovegood, Umbridge, Fudge, or any person that Tonks or Remus would disapprove of. And don't you dare try and do otherwise, or I'll somehow rise from the grave and skin you alive, agonizingly slowly. Do not _dare_ harm my godson. And that goes for everyone. Once again, I've entrusted Griphook with ensuring that Teddy's guardian is a decent one.

If Andromeda is incapable or unwilling to do so, I'll ask the head of the House of Windsor to assume guardianship over Teddy, even though I don't know her. She's my maternal grandmother, how bad could she be?.

But regardless, I've left instructions for how to deal with any scenario.

And now, sheeple, it's time for revenge.

First off, it's a shame that Scrimgeour, Fudge, Umbridge, Dumbledore, Mundungus Fletcher, Snape, and Malfoy Senior are dead. It would've been fun to come up with something for them.

To Kreacher, I order your beheading. Plain and simple, bastard.

To Gringotts, I transfer my 80% stake in the _Daily Prophet_. Hopefully, Ragnok will not be kind to you.

To Xenophilius Lovegood, I leave you two knuts.

To Hermione Granger-Weasley, I leave two knuts. Don't worry though, the revenge is on the whole Weasley clan.

To anyone who knew me at Hogwarts, I leave you my disgust.

To Draco Malfoy, I invoke my right as heir of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin by conquest to bar any relatively close relatives of yours from attending Hogwarts. And yes, that extends to a lot of the purebloods, given how interbred you lot are. Good riddance to bad rubbish, given how you opportunists threw me behind bars.

Holo-Harry smirked, and resumed his speech.

And finally, to the Weasleys. Now, here's the interesting thing: You owe me, collectively, a life debt from Ginny, a life debt from Arthur Weasley, a life debt from Ronald Weasley, a life debt from Hermione Granger-Weasley, and a debt from the Weasley Twins, period.

However, all of you, save the twins' inaction, betrayed me publicly and personally. And, as I found out, we're related, four times removed or something like that. So your betrayal, on top of the life debts, gives me a family blood debt.

First thing is first: I separate Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour, the entire Delacour family, and any of Bill and Fleur's descendants from these debts owed by the Weasley family. Have a happy life, you two. And on a whim, I separate Charlie Weasley too, since he never did anything to me.

With Hermione's life-debt, I blind your eyes from reading printed text or runes again. Don't worry, your eyesight will be normal, but words will be invisible to you. I also ban you from using magic in order to fulfill the life-debt's depth.

With Ron's life-debt, I forbid him from holding any form of job. Good luck surviving financially, traitors. I ban you from using magic, as well, for the same reason as Hermione.

With Ginny's life-debt, I command her to become a muggle whore as her profession. She is banned from using magic too. Same reason.

Now, time for the blood debt and Arthur's life debt.

Holo-Harry took a deep, deep breath.

I, Lord Potter-Black, declare the Weasley family's blood debt to the Potter-Black family unredeemable.

Now, I'm sure the audience at my will reading has no idea what this will do, so I'll say it flat out. Any and all descendants of you greedy pigs will forever be squibs and muggles. This applies to your children and your fiftieth generation descendants…aka, it's permanent. The exceptions are Charlie, Bill, and Fleur, of course. Have fun living as outcasts!

And finally, Mr. Weasley's debt. I claim every possession that is in the possession of a Weasley family member, save Bill, Charlie, and Fleur. I ban Bill and Charlie from storing the possessions for their family members, and I ban them from sharing their own possessions with family members outside the Delacour family and whoever Charlie marries.

Suck it up, bloody bastards.

As my last act, I assume my position as Magical heir by blood and magic to the House of Windsor, and assume my title by right of birth: Duke of Magic in the British Isles and Territories. I hereby leave the head of House Windsor a copy of my pensieve memories and a document detailing the past twenty five years' magical history. And if Granger knows who the Windsor family is, I hope she faints.

This concludes my pensieve will. Goodbye. And Teddy, remember that I always will love you, though I hope you never attain the means to reach me, simply due to methodology."

With a flash, the holo-Harry disappeared.

__

6 reviews in one day? For my story? I'm shocked and flattered. As for answering them:

_PriyanshPotter: I don't know what pairings there will be, or if there will be pairings at all. Arya is conceivable, but I'll have to see where my writing takes me._

_I don't see Harry as being godly in terms of power. He'll have definite strengths from being raised in magic, but some glaring flaws too, that he'll have to work to improve. Maybe not a SuperHarry, but a Semi-SuperHarry, if you get what I mean._

_Skipernicus: Alagaesia starts off at the end of Eldest. I have not read Brisingr, I do not know how much of the spoilers I know of Brisingr will be included. It'll have to wait and see._


	3. Chapter 3

Warnings: Mild Cartoon Violence (that is to say, a brief scuffle)

Oh, and I've forgotten the disclaimer all this time. So, let me do that once and for all: I own nothing but the plotline. If I create an original character (OC), then it will be fairly obvious. I assume that nobody on this site would actually claim they created the characters in their writing when this is, after all, _fanfiction_.

Actually, one thing I do own: The interaction between the different Intellectual Properties. That is all.

**HP/Eragon**

**HP/Eragon**

**Chapter 3  
**

"_Do you know how you got here?" the healer asked._

"_Yeah… I walked through the Veil, though it was expected to kill me."_

"_What?" she exclaimed. "Why would you?"_

"_Because it's a form of Judgment," Arya broke in, stepping into the tent fully.  
_

_****HP/Eragon****  
****HP/Eragon**** _

"What do you mean by that?" the healer questioned.

"I read it on the archway. It's written in a precursor to the Ancient Language," she elaborated. _"Pass the Judged through here, for I Know all. May the Sinners die. May the Falsely Accused suffer nothing. May the Deeply Betrayed be given life anew."_

Angela did the calculations in her head. Harry beat her to the punch.

"Yes, I suppose you can say I was deeply betrayed. Of course, nobody really knows what the Veil did, so they assumed it meant instant death. The only reason they tried to execute me that way was for the irony."

Silence ensued in the tent. "Must I ask?" Angela cajoled.

"It was how my godfather died." Neither women knew what to say to the stranger.

"By the by, what's your name?"

"Harry Potter-Black, though I might end up changing it. Yours?"

"Angela"

"Ambassador Arya Svit-Kona. In any case, the archway probably brought you here for a reason. I'll ask Nasuada to set up a residence for you once you've recovered."

"Thank you, Ambassador Svit-Kona"

"Just call me Arya. It might be an idea to inspect that trunk, by the way." And with that, she left.

"While you do that, I have things to attend to. I'll check on you later in the day, and Solembum might choose to keep you company. Bye." The healer departed.

With the abrupt exits, Harry sighed and decided to check what trunk they were referring to. His aches made themselves known as he tumbled out of bed to inspect it. The first surprise was the lettering. _Property of Messrs. Padfoot and Prongslet_.

Deciding to figure it out later, Harry noticed the seven different locks. _Just like Moody's_, he thought grimly.

The first compartment held his personal possessions. It had been enlarged to fit his firebolt, and beside it lay his wand, the marauder's map, the two-way mirror Sirius had given him, and the photo album that Hagrid had given his in first year.

The second compartment had a staircase. To Solembum's astonishment, he descended into a library that was the size of the great hall. A plaque by the entrance stated "_Potter-Black Library_".

The third was another staircase, this time into a Room of Requirement. Currently, it was set up with targets to shoot spells at. Deciding to explore it more later, he exited and opened the fourth to find a potions lab, fully stocked with everything one could think of.

The fifth contained a fully stocked kitchen, and all the food replenished itself once gone from the shelf. The sixth stored mountains upon mountains of galleons, some stacks twenty feet tall.

The seventh surprised him most. Seeing his cloak wasn't a surprise, but seeing the elder wand and the resurrection stone was. As were his parents' wands. Godric Gryffindor's sword seemed to be the pinnacle. Yet, the object that seemingly held _no_ place was a huge, amethyst stone that reminded Harry strongly of Hagrid's dragon egg.

Strangely, he felt a connection, a kinship, with it. Harry lifted it out of the trunk and let exhaustion hit him. Without noticing the ruby red stone glittering behind the egg, he stumbled back to bed, enclosed his arms around the purple stone protectively, and fell asleep.

Solembum watched the entire ordeal silently. After seeing the stone, he ran off to find Angela.

****HP/Eragon****  
****HP/Eragon****

It was unfortunate that Harry hadn't had the energy to cast an alarm ward around his bed, else he would've had more warning to deal with visitors.

"Quiet, man! Grab the egg and do not wake him!" a man hissed at the entrance to the tent. Since he'd always been a light sleeper, Harry had been roused even earlier by the close presence of another, but he was soon fully awake. At the touch of another lifting his arm, his eyes shot open.

"H'llo, what is it?" he grumbled, tightening the arm still around the egg. After a series of muttered curses, he heard a reply.

"Sir, we are confiscating a possession of yours," a man said by the entrance whom Harry turned to see. At that moment, two hands seized the amethyst stone and tugged, loosening Harry's hold.

Wrenching it out of the aide's grip, Harry narrowed his eyes and sat up in his bed. "And by what right do you do such a thing?" his voice tightened threateningly.

"By my position in the Surdan Court and by the decree of King Orrin's court, boy." The intruder snarkily retorted. "And if you'll allow me…" and to Harry's shock, the man marched up to his tent, and baldly snatched it from Harry's grasp.

A moment of silence, before the man turned haughtily and started striding back. The tension snapped. Pulling Sirius's wand out of his pocket, Harry pointed and shouted. "Stupefy!" "Accio!"

A red light shot, and the man tumbled over unconscious. The amethyst egg quickly zipped back into Harry's other, outstretched hand.

It was the older, more regal-looking man who stepped up next. "Kid, that egg is vital to our future well-being, and we must ask for it from you," he pleaded, trying to seem reasonable.

"And you are…?"

"I am King Orrin."

"Well, King Orrin," Harry drawled, "last time I checked, it wasn't polite to take without asking, and your man tried to do just that." He stared him down. "And what of hospitality? Or is such an idea alien among nobility to give to a sick, recovering man?" More withering glares. "If I'd overstayed my welcome, you could've said so quite easily."

Without another glance, he turned to his trunk, opened the fourth compartment, and summoned a Strengthening Potion. Downing it, he shakily got to his feet, clothed in the same bloody garb as in the Department of Mysteries, and grabbed a hold of his trunk. Wordlessly, he dragged it past the strangers in the doorway, and found a small clearing next to Angela's tent.

Oblivious to their dropping jaws, he conjured a tent identical to hers, and stepped closer. "_Salvio Hexlia! Repello Muggletum! Silencio Murus! Viscus Timor! Expulso Hostilis!" _He pointed his wand at the new tent as different colored waves of light emerged from it. With the wards in place, he strode in, entered the bedroom compartment of his trunk (which was really the Room of Requirement 3rd lock), and fell back to sleep.

Outside, Orrin, Angela, and Nasuada were flabbergasted. Orrin walked up, disregarding the warnings of the two women. About ten feet from the tent, he hit an invisible wall and was slammed back twenty feet, crashing into the ground, as the wards stopped him.

****HP/Inheritance****

****HP/Inheritance****

Several hours later, Arya was shocked. "You mean to say, King Orrin, that after discovering Mr. Potter-Black possessed a dragon egg, you condoned and assisted in your court advisor's attempt to steal it," she summarized in a clipped tone.

"Ambassador Svit-Kona, he held what could be a critical asset to the war, and it was only right that we find its Rider as soon as possible."

"And I suppose that you find no fault in pilfering from non-subjects like dwarves, urgals, Eragon and Saphira, or I?" she elaborated. Diplomatic traps like these were the reason she hadn't tired of being an ambassador. "Keep in mind, King Orrin, that this was a newcomer who is not your subject, is on a border between two countries, and is currently recuperating from extensive injuries."

His face paled. "He knocked Irwin out with magic, and he has yet to wake. Surely that holds some weight, Ambassador?"

"From what you have told me, he was rendered unconscious from trying to steal, and as such it was a provoked consequence. I'll take my leave, King Orrin." Arya didn't pause before turning around and heading towards Harry's tent. At the wards, she felt a brush of magic, but continued when it didn't harm her. Upon seeing the empty tent with an open trunk, she sat down, made herself comfortable, and waited. It didn't take five minutes.

Harry awoke when the alarm ward sounded. Groaning, he shut it off and dragged himself out of bed with little effort - each time he woke, he regained a bit of his strength. After straightening his rags and making a note to change clothes, he ascended the trunk staircase to come face to face with Arya. He still held the egg with him.

"Ambassador, welcome. What can I do for you?" Harry smiled thinly.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter-Black. I got word of a recent incident between you and an advisor of King Orrin, and I was hoping to hear you characterize it."

"Please, call me Harry. Formality bores me. And there isn't much to tell. They entered the tent, I woke up, an aide tried to take it, and I wouldn't let go. The idiot spoke down to me and demanded it, then proceeded with wrenching it out of my hands. So I stunned him, took back the egg, and made this," he gestured around him to his living space. "The King tried to ask for it, but I had none of it after the idiot's attempt. That's about it, Ambassador," he concluded. And then added, "now, I know you already knew that, so why are you here, if I may ask."

Arya took a quick breath. "First, as Irwin has not woken yet, I'd ask that you revive him." At Harry's noncommittal shrug, she proceeded. "And, I'd like to put their request in a more understandable context."

Arya proceeded to explain about the war with the Empire, the fall of the Riders, the Varden, the three dragon eggs, Eragon and Saphira, the red Rider, and the implications of a new Rider in the war should the egg hatch. She didn't pause much, and Harry listened, quietly, the entire way through.

"Now, I'd like to ask that if the egg doesn't hatch for you, that you allow the Varden or the Elves to ferry it among our people in search of someone whom it will bond to."

Harry took the request in silence. She waited patiently for a response. Finally, after two minutes, he spoke.

"I have not decided, as the few people I've met made horrible impressions on me. But I don't think you'll be ferrying it around, anyway. I did not arrive here with this trunk, and the fact that it is here means that I should have it. However, I'd be grateful if you could warn Angela to expect me in need of treatment tomorrow. Now, is there anything else I can do for you, Ambassador?"

She declined. "If I'm to call you by your first name, I must ask that you reciprocate, Mr. Potter-Black."

"Okay, Arya. Is there anything else I can do?"

"No, and thank you for your time Harry." At his wave, she exited the tent. Harry took out his wand, cast a _Tempus Calendaris_ charm, shook his head at the date, and returned to his musings.

_**end chapter**_

Note: There will be a slight plot hole next chapter in terms of when he cast the _Tempus Calendaris_, but I'm too lazy to change it. Sorry :)

_15 reviews? I'm flattered. _

_Chippermovie: Yeah, one of the most difficult things about the story will be finding a balance between HP & Eragon magic. After all, HP is virtually unlimited, whereas Eragon requires physical vitality for his magic. It'll be interesting. I don't know how much the Hallows will be involved beyond keeping Harry immortal, I haven't planned that far ahead yet. But I'll keep the suggestion in mind._

_ninjafromthefire: I'm not sure if I'll have _a_ pairing, let alone plan one specifically. It makes sense, but it might be creepy. I was thinking of a father-figure in Oromis when I started out. It might work, might not. But we'll see, I guess._

_Hanzo of the Salamander: Your question has been answered in this chapter._


	4. Interlude 1

Note: After this, the chapters are going to slow down. I'll try to keep it up to at least once every two weeks, probably shorter, but I have a lot on my plate at school too, including two separate, ongoing writing assignments. In addition, I try to stay one chapter ahead of whatever I write (to ensure I don't dig myself a hole that I can't get out of). If it gets too excessive a wait, I'll just post the chapter waiting in the wings, but I can hopefully avoid that.

Warnings: ...Language?

Disclaimer: If it really needs to be said for someone's confusion to be cleared up, then they need help. Dearly.

****HP/Eragon****

****HP/Eragon****

**Interlude 1**

Her Majesty, the Queen of England, was not amused. Perhaps she should have paid more attention to _all_ her subjects, not just the ones that she could see. Yet, as far as her reports and those of the Prime Minister said, the 'magical' community within Britain was simply rebuilding in the aftermath of a terrible war.

It came as quite a surprise to receive a letter from a 'Gringotts' Bank, and even more so to learn that she was mentioned in the will of a man who didn't know her. Mr. Griphook had been extremely helpful in clearing up matters of recent events as she explored the tenets of the will in private.

Not only had her Magical subjects imprisoned an innocent man, they had imprisoned her grandson. She'd often wondered what had happened to Lily – it was common practice among the 'Windsor' family, as they were called, to spend several years with a normal family. It quelled pretentious attitudes and gave new perspectives for the Royal family to understand issues during their reign. But Lily, her precious daughter, had been magical. The first in nearly a century at that. And so she assumed the last name of her common family – Evans, her mind blithely supplied – and went to Britain's magic school.

Every year, communication between the Queen and her daughter had grown scarcer. Their war, Lily informed her, targeted anyone with non-magical ancestry, and there was no distinction in class or wealth. You were either 'pure', or 'mud': who in Magical Britain even knew of the Royal family?

And then the war dragged on, and even as it ended, her Lily, her daughter was murdered. She hadn't even known, from lack of letters, that Lily had had a son…

Queen Elizabeth II's thoughts were tumultuous as she read the document that her apparent grandson had written her. Some of the things were truly disturbing. Was the magical press _allowed_ to break the law? Minors were never supposed to have their names published in critical press, let alone a trial! It was basic law. Was the headmaster of a school given so much leeway freely as to invite creatures as horrid as dementors? They attacked the students, for Christ's sake! And how did they allow a minor to compete in a deadly tournament? Surely there was a procedure for withdrawing one's name if it was chosen!

In all honesty, how did that…._Umbridge-woman_, get away with cruel and unusual punishment! How corrupt was society? And trials were nothing more than a formality, was Magical Britain _trying_ to anger her further?

Her grandson – Harry, what a nice name – had left a godson behind in his death. Well, while she wouldn't just take him away, she _was_ the Queen of England and could check on him every now and then. He was her only connection to Lily, and it was the only substantial request he'd made. Besides, from what he'd written of societal stigmas and his godson's parentage, the child would need _some_ form of protection.

And at last, the final thing Griphook had for her was a bowl of silver liquid. Apparently, it would allow her to see the entirety of Harry's life, up to his death. The Queen, to the hesitance of her bodyguards, dipped a finger into the bowl.

Memories swirled around her, forcing her viewership one after the other. Living in the cupboard, getting beatings from his Uncle, torment and Harry Hunting from Dudley. The beatings for doing better in school, so his grades instantaneously dropped. The random visit from social services, whose memory was wiped anyway by the bearded old man. Hogwarts, the fiasco of letters, and the glint of _hope_ present in the boy's – her grandson's – eyes.

The years flashed before her eyes: First, and the sorcerer's stone quest. Second, with the social ostracization and the slaying of the basilisk. Third, with the constant paranoia of Sirius Black, only to find him innocent later, despite the bearded man's unwillingness to use his power and knowledge to clear his name. Fourth, with further ostracization, the slew of bad (and illegal) tabloid articles, and the trauma at the third task's end. Fifth, withstanding the Ministry's propaganda, bearing Umbridge's torture sessions, and losing his godfather. Sixth, with the pseudo-preparation for his responsibility, and the bearded man finally died. Seventh, with pure, unbridled hate. Forging his own path, the red-head's betrayal, the destruction of the horcruxes, and the final battle.

Finally, it settled on repetitive images: the years spent in a cold, dingy cell, the only two dementors in the compound guarding him. The falsity of a trial, the ignorance of evidence. His pep talk to the round-faced friend as they stood in the elevator, and the march to death.

The images stopped, and Queen Elizabeth II regained her bearings. Her guards were stock-still, but concerned. Even Griphook had a sliver of concern showing. And Her Majesty came to a decision: These people were her subjects, and would answer to her. If they would not answer to normal law, she would write it into magical law. And she would never forgive them for taking her daughter and grandson away, let alone the torment they put him through.

"I, Elizabeth, Queen of England and the British Isles, hereby declare martial law, do hereby assume the leadership of my magical subjects as Monarch of Magic in England and the British Isles and assert my jurisdiction over all subjects magical in nature…"

****HP/Eragon****

****HP/Eragon****

****HP/Eragon****

_For future reference, Interludes will be snapshots of what's taking place in Britain. I don't know whether I'll go through with the particular idea I have in mind, but they're fun to write at any rate._

_About pairings: I do not have anything planned. If enough people request it, I can put in a poll (I'll first have to learn how to do that) on my profile, but in all the stories where I've seen pairings, the relationship's trials and tribulations become the focus of the story….I don't want that, I'd like NWNH to be more than that. If a relationship sparks, spur of the moment, while I'm writing, then I'll go with it. Just…don't expect to see the seeds of a relationship start until I have at least 8 chapters posted, and have a plot moving along nicely._

_With that said…_

_Reviews:_

_Ninjafromthefire: Don't spoil it!_

_Hanzo of the Salamander: That pairing would be…difficult for me. I haven't actually decided on Harry's animagus form, but I feel like having it be a dragon would be meaningless. It doesn't fit his character. And I'm hesitant to write any bestiality, let alone slash._

_Oden1234: Everything regarding Oromis is largely up in the air, since I haven't actually written him in yet. I'll keep the advice in mind, though. Harry's Dragon (who I can't come up with a name yet) is going to be male, so the idea won't work, I'm afraid._

_Seithr-Kairy: Await more Interludes_

_Lord Orion: Keep in mind, Harry spent 3 years in Azkaban. Those titles mean very little at this point. When he gets settled in, he'll probably insist on it more._

_Padmus Orion Black: Yes, yes it will._


	5. Chapter 4

_See? It's out in less than two weeks, and I have a decent start on the Chapter 5._

_Warnings: If you're even remotely mature, you can handle it. If you're even remotely immature, you can still handle it. And it you're extremely mature or immature…I can only hope for your sanity to survive this bruising ordeal _

_Disclaimer: Posted on a previous chapter_

_Do you think I should make the Interludes a serious part of the story? I already plan for it to be interspersed every once in a while, but there's room for them to be more involved. Write your opinion in a review?_

_Also: Any suggestions for the dragon's name? I'm in a state of indecision on this, any suggestions might spark new ideas...please?  
_

_***HP/Eragon*** Chapter 4_

***_HP/Eragon*** Chapter 4  
_

"What?" Angela started. _He _knows_ that he's going to be injured?_ "What brought it on?"

Arya gave a noncommittal shrug. "I don't know. He made some numbers appear in mid-air, looked at it, and asked me to relay the message."

Still clutching the amethyst egg, Harry lay on his bed in silence, waiting for midnight to finally hit. As 59 turned to 00, and the eleven changed to a twelve, the pain started.

It was all Harry could do to simply register where the pain was coming from. His head was throbbing violently, but his bones, muscles, and sinew all shook with fiery pain. His body elongated, his ears sharpened, and his front filled out. No longer did he look like a concentration camp survivor beneath his robes. It wasn't pure muscle, but there was at least _substance_ filling out his torso and stomach. His innards rearranged themselves slightly.

For once, Harry feared death. Few people were known to survive this in such a condition, much less a post-Azkaban state. Yet the Hallows were once again hovering above him, preventing their master's passing.

After an eternity of changes, Harry collapsed. The transformation sent out a shockwave of energy, rousing all the magic-users (which, unfortunately, included many of King Orrin's Court) in the encampment. In his arms, several squeaks were heard, and the amethyst began crumbling.

***HP/Eragon***

The shockwave was like a bucket of ice-water for Arya as she shot up out of bed. It left her numb and lonely. Yet, the ice-water was unrelenting. _Po- Harry_, she thought, as she rushed out of her tent to get to his.

What she saw was unparalleled. The wards surrounding his home were visible, and were glowing an icy electric blue. The strands of magic ran around his tent at the speed of light. And beyond that, the atmosphere felt heavy, laden down with magic.

As she came to, she noticed many fellow gazers. King Orrin, for the first time she'd seen him, had his jaw hanging open. Irwin's lips were thinning into mere lines, as his head turned red. Angela, Arya noticed, looked intrigued but calm. Solembum lay at her feet, lazily looking.

And behind them, lay the remnants of Du Vrangr Gata – or, the ones rested enough to walk. Trianna stood at the head, an unrecognizable glint in her eye.

She barely noticed the near-silence that permeated the crowd.

At last, Irwin looked ready to steam. He marched up to the barrier and attempted to pass through. _Attempted_, being the key word. Whereas before, they had launched him back ten feet, he was now sent skyward, eventually landing – and collapsing – his own tent, 30 yards away. It was Orrin's order that sent a half-dozen healers to him.

Two minutes passed. When the light show within the tent ceased, and the ward settled into a peaceful current, Arya chose to brave it. Arousing several strangled shouts, she strode through the dozen feet between her and the ward, and passed through.

All of a sudden, the newfound shouts stopped. She turned around, and witnessed two dozen mouths moving at a league an hour, with no sound issued from it. Remembering that Harry had requested Angela's help, she crossed the ward again – to be hit with two dozen cries – and dragged Angela through, pulling her by the wrist.

Both noticed the chill in the air. With trepidation, the pair entered the tent.

_What the…there's _no one here!_ They thought_.

It was Angela who noticed the open trunk. Peering into it, she noticed the staircase. As they descended, they noticed the décor turning into that of a bedroom. And there he was, the mystery of the hour. They approached his bedside and stared in shock. The egg was cracking. A piece of it suddenly flew off. Then a second, and a third. The dragon stuck its head out, and turned to the sleeping man who cradled it. In a small show of strength, it unfurled its wings and dismantled the rest of the egg. The dragon nudged one of the human's hands so that it lay open, palm up, and touched its nose to the hand.

After a second brief light show danced across Potter's palm, the amethyst dragon settled in its Rider's arms, closed its eyes, and snored softly.

***HP/Eragon***

***HP/Eragon***

Neither woman in the mood to meet two dozen stares and a barrage of questions, Arya and Angela made themselves at home in Harry's tent. The empty bed in the tent itself was massive, so they both could fit on it, easily.

And such was the position that Harry found the two visitors in when he woke up and emerged from his bedroom, a dragon in his arms. Two bodies on opposite sides of the bed, tangled blankets in the middle, and near silence. He wasn't really sure how, or whether, to wake the pair up. Conjuring parchment, a quill, and ink, he wrote the duo a note. With that, he closed the trunk, reopened the kitchen compartment, and entered.

As it were, Angela stirred mere minutes after the visit, and the sudden movement roused the elven ambassador. Blinking sleep out of their eyes, the two rose and noticed the note. Gathering composure, they descended a new staircase to a new sight.

It was, while alien to them, a kitchen. A circular dining table took up one side of the room, and on the other lay a litany of counters, appliances (that they couldn't recognize), and a door to a walk-in pantry. Of particular interest were two metallic boxes that extended up to the ceiling, door handles smoothly protruding in an arch form.

On the table lay the dragon, happily ripping apart chunks of frozen chicken and swallowing them greedily.

Arya managed to snap out of her reverie before Harry emerged from the pantry, glanced at them, and spoke. "Breakfast?" he offered, gesturing to the counter beside him.

After answering a multitude of questions about the various items on the table ("the yellow bread-y thing with ridges is called a _waffle_", "if you're a vegetarian, don't eat the dark red links – they're sausages", and "pumpkin juice is just an extremely sugar-laden juice"), the trio filled their plates and ate in silence. While Arya kept her face impassive, Angela looked puzzled as she took in Harry's physical changes from the previous day. At last, she lost her patience.

"What happened?" At his questioning look, she added, "You look different, you're taller, your skin is paler, and there was a huge light show last night. What happened?" She insisted.

"Inheritance," he answered bluntly. He looked back at her. Angela had a clueless expression, and Arya was impassive. "You see, magic is semi-sentient. It can't hold a conversation, but your magic can tell when you're in bad shape."

"Normally," he continued, "your inheritance occurs at seventeen. It's the age at which people became adults…in…my…world. But at seventeen, I was under major mental stress and suffering from malnutrition. So my magic sensed that, and waited."

"It can wait for a few years – on your birthday, it'll check again. But by the time I was eighteen, I was already in Azkaban, and stayed there until now. Yet, the baseline that magic requires in order to undergo inheritance lowers every successive year. Twenty one is considered the last straw because it's impossible not to meet the requirements and still be alive. So it happened last night. It's why I asked you to be prepared: People often die in delayed inheritances. You become stronger due to the wait, but the stress is that much more."

The healer was speechless, and returned to her food with less vigor.

The three ate in silence, save for the clattering of utensils on plates, the sipping of drinks, and the snores of the dragon. Harry decided it would be worth testing their sincerity.

"Is there anything I should know?" At their surprised looks, he continued. "About the politics here, or customs, or the war?"

Angela stayed silent. _Well there goes one_. Arya spoke up.

"Everyone has an agenda, and will try to fit you into it. King Orrin is benevolent, but ineffectual as a leader. His advisers are the ones who control Surda on a day-to-day basis."

"Like Irwin?" He asked. "Yes, and others."

"Nasuada is leader of the Varden, but she's frequently in conflict with the Council due to attempts to control her. Du Vrangr Gata – a group of the Varden's magicians - is practically a separate entity within that, and have their own autonomous leadership. They answer to Nasuada, but it's not a superior-subject relationship by any means."

"I wouldn't be the best person to teach about the Fall, but the summary from yesterday should work for now. Customs will become apparent on their own."

"If it's not too personal, may I ask what you've become?" Arya queried.

Harry looked at her, and reflected. If he were to avoid the politicking, his best bet would be to seek refuge with the elves. Plus, by what he'd already seen, he looked somewhat elven anyway.

"I'll need to find a couple things to test it, but if it's nothing outlandish, then I'll tell you."

Arya rose a brow. "Wouldn't you know based on what your parents were?"

Clearly, it was the wrong thing to say. Potter fixed her with a glare that could have frozen a lake of molten lava. She felt the chills again. "Besides the fact that I was orphaned at one, you mean?" The chills intensified. "Creature inheritances are usually remnants of who your family married into many generations ago." The chills vanished.

"Keep eating, I'm going to another compartment. I'll need a potion and special parchment to find out anyway, and I need to know what potion to brew in the first place. Make yourselves at home while I'm working. The library is in the second lock. The third can conjure whatever you need for any use, but you can't take items made in it outside. Right now, it's set up as my bedroom, but you can change it to a training room if you request it. If I'm in the fourth, don't disturb me, because potions require the utmost attention. And, **don't** touch the first, sixth, or seventh locks. Right now, we're in the fifth, the kitchen. Have fun." With that, Potter cradled his amethyst dragon and walked up the staircase.

****HP/Eragon****

****HP/Eragon****

Ten minutes later, Harry returned to the kitchen. One arm cradled his dragon, the other held a sheet of parchment.

"Hey, Arya? What's the official name of the elven race?" Harry questioned. Her lips pursed and her eyebrows twitched unnoticeably.

"We are simply known as elves. There is no other true name." Arya's eyes held a confused glint. "Do you know what you are?"

"Yes," he grimaced, plopping himself into a seat with only enough grace to avoid disturbing his familiar. "I'm a mix of two creatures, mostly. I'm one-half Ancient, and one-half Shadow Elf. Well," he corrected, "a quarter each and half human, but the human half has no dominant traits." At their lack of reaction, he made a guess. "I don't suppose they exist here, do they? Ancients, vampires, shadow elves?"

"Not that I know of," she phrased in perfect diplomatic form.

"Doesn't matter then. There will be something between the Potter and Black libraries about it at any rate. Anyway, if you have the time, I'd like to discuss what all options are?"

The ambassador sighed. "I have the time, I can't speak for Angela." At a glance, the healer shook her head.

"I have several patients still, even if they're not confined to bedrest. And Solembum is feeling very irate at the moment, so I'd best ward him off." She waved, ascended the stairs, and left the tent.

Arya took the departure as her cue. "You were referring to options?"

The new Rider grimaced. "Yeah. If it were up to me, I'd just find a nice, peaceful refuge somewhere and grow…well, not old, but aged. But your description of the politics suggests I'll be dogged by everyone until I choose an allegiance. Plus, I don't know what being a Rider entails anyway. So, being the well-versed diplomat you are who foresees all outcomes, what do you think are the options available to me?"

The bluntness struck Arya. He didn't even know her well, and he was asking her for opinions? More so, he'd already divulged personal information! Yet, if she was disingenuous or misleading, it would be a crippling setback at such an early stage. She made her choice.

"I see a number of possibilities. One, you join the Empire. But, if you did that, Galbatorix would turn you into a near-slave. Two, you join the Varden. But you'll have to deal with the politicking in that circle. A lot of attention will come your way too, whether you enjoy or resent it, I don't know. Three, you remain with the Surdans, but I take it that Irwin and Orrin haven't endeared themselves to you. Four, you strike out on your own. But, as you said, everyone will clamor for your help. Five, you stay with another race, like the Dwarves or Urgals. Yet, you don't know them at all., she summarized. "And then there's a final option…"

"Which would be?" He pressed.

Arya hoped that the bias wouldn't turn him off the idea. "Six, you stay with the elves. As you said, you are a shadow elf, even if that isn't _quite_ the same as us. Nobody, bar approved visitors, can find our cities, let alone survive in the forest. And we have resources to train Riders that no other faction has. Eragon is studying under…elven tutelage at the moment, and you'd no doubt have access to similar resources." She mentally cursed herself for almost letting Oromis slip.

She received a wary look of assessment, and knew he was about to choose his words carefully. "While option number six is, initially, the most appealing, why would a half-human, never mind his heritage or circumstances, be given refuge in an elven land exclusive to all other races?" _What's the catch, in other words?_

"The elves would most likely hope that you defend your home as well, possibly aiding in our endeavors to ensure our safety." _We want your allegiance, too._

A minute of silence ensued. "What…_resources_, would be readily available?" _How important is any training?_

"Elves are the most accomplished in swordplay and magic, and we possess a great understanding of history." _That's what you would learn_.

_Swordplay? She wants _me_, with all the bloody shit I've been through, to be capable of fighting with a sword? Is she mad?_ Harry rose an eyebrow.

"Swordplay? Allow me to remind you, ambassador, that we're talking about a sick man who's spent years rotting away in a prison, expected to learn sword fighting? Besides, I am well versed in magic, if the constant gaping from your peers says anything."

"True, but you would still have more than sufficient privacy. And such a thing can be overcome over time."

He laughed. Darkly. "Well, that's true Arya. However, I made the decision before we entered this conversation. I will accept your invitation to seek sanctuary within Du Weldenvarden on several conditions. One, I reserve the right to leave at any time for due reason. Two, I am not treated with such widespread recognition as I'm sure your other Rider is. Three, I have the right to question orders that seem impractical should I end up fighting. If that's acceptable to you, I'd be delighted to go with you."

With her nod, the agreement was sealed. The two got up and ascended the staircase. As Arya made to leave, Harry issued one last request. "Ambassador, I do hope that all the goings-on in my residence will be kept confidential? You have my permission to tell, perhaps, the other Rider and the Varden's leader is you deem them trustworthy, but try to keep things secret? To them, I am merely the carrier of a dragon egg. I'd like them to still believe it when we leave eventually."

Arya rose a brow. "And you didn't inform Angela of this because…?" He smirked. It was a dangerous sight to behold. His eyes lit up and the smile promised dark, evil things.

"Why, for what reason would I warn her? That is her test!"

****End of Chapter ****

****End of Chapter ****

****End of Chapter ****

_You know, I thought I'd be annoyed by the constant questions about a pairing. Now, it's just too amusing. And it's giving me tons of ideas. Not on pairings, but additional characters to put in._

_One Question: Should Harry go to Ellesmera immediately, or should a couple days be spent in Du Weldenvarden to get used to the area? Keep in mind, Arya will be with him to bring him to the capital safely._

_Yes/No? _

_And after that, time for responding to reviews:_

_First, a thanks to Oden1234, Tirla, Katsy17, fanbashet865, call015, Mcv, nat, and Soul Tini for the positive feedback. There were others, but everyone I didn't mention has a question or comment that I'll respond to. So no, I'm not discriminating randomly. _

_Dainlord: Not in my plans, but I don't have the entire plot planned out. I wouldn't expect it, though I might throw in an unsuspected connection between the two worlds. It all depends on whether it makes sense at the time._

_Raven Marcus: I haven't actually decided on an animagus form yet. I don't want it to be ridiculous (a phoenix), or an aerial creature (bird, dragon, etc.). But apart from that, I haven't decided between a few ideas yet. One of the choices would definitely be unique, but I want to wait until Harry's character is fleshed out more to make a better decision. If you have specific suggestions, I'll take them into account though._

_Mewlucy: No to the dragon. Harry's animagus form won't be an aerial creature unless I do a 180 in opinion. I know what you're saying, and an OC would be easier than an established character too. But it'll have to play out. I'll look back maybe in a couple months, see who he has the best fit with, and consider making someone designed to be his lover. Though I can't imagine myself writing slash if my life depended on it. I'd literally have to ask someone else to write it for me, but it's too early to fear _that_ time._

_Hanzo of the Salamander: I'm positioning the dragon (still unnamed) as a type of familiar to Harry. Having any relationship with his dragon that isn't platonic and of a best-friend nature seems deliberately…kinky._

_Silvereyed Queen: About the royal family – I know, but ever since I read a story where Harry was related to the royal family, I started liking the idea. Lily went to live with the Dursleys when she was eight as a tradition among the Windsor family (to live normally for a few years). Petunia isn't a biological sister, blood wards were useless. They never made too much sense in canon anyway. Consider it a plot hole if you must, but the Queen, thanks to this plot hole, is going to be very active in Wizarding Society. For good or bad, only time (and my imagination) will tell._

_And as for the trunk: I know, but I couldn't see a way around it. It's needed for the egg, it's needed for the library, his possessions, the Sorcerer's stone, etc. As Harry settles in, it's going to wane in importance, so don't worry about that._

_Lord Orion Leonix Black: Maybe. No guarantees. Just don't hold your breath waiting for _any_ pairing, cause you'll suffocate first._

_Frytrix: I haven't made the decision about the gender of Harry's lover. Hell, I haven't built in a place for a lover, period. Your suggestion could work, but Harry in this story is going to be a bit…more abrasive. I'll see where it goes, and I might incorporate a character like that (no finalities yet), but I won't promise anything._

_Icylone: My thoughts, exactly. Thanks _


	6. Chapter 5

Warnings: None, really, unless you consider being multiple species as wrong...

Please read the A/N at the end of the chapter. Help would be greatly appreciated.

_HP/Eragon Chapter 5_

Later that day, Harry slammed a heavy tome onto the coffee table in frustration. Shadow elves may as well be fictional! It had been difficult to find information on Ancients, but it had been possible. A passage he'd found had explained it. It wasn't succinct, but it had worked:

_ Ancients are commonly mistaken to be vampires. In truth, vampires are an offshoot of Ancients, created to be servants, much like house-elves act for wizards. Yet Ancients possess numerous advantages to them. As reknowned as vampires are for speed, grace, and unnatural strength, Ancients are the true progenitors of those stories. They are the creatures whom such ideas rest on, their abilities exponentially greater than a human's, while a vampire's attributes are merely five to ten times greater than their abilities as humans. _

_ Unlike vampires, Ancients can walk about during the day without agitation. They are the true masters of blood and blood magic, but do not depend on it. Vampires are seen as savage due to their continuous need for the red substance. Ancients can and often do augment their strength with it, but do not require blood for survival._

_ Ancients are widely respected for numerous abilities. Several, as previously mentioned, are the superhuman speed, stamina, and strength. A second is their proficiency at blood magic and rituals, including the ability of increasing their power through its consumption. Two other abilities are less well-known. The first is natural Occlumency and Legilimency skills, which are rumored to be only surpassed by fellow Ancients. The final skill is an elemental control over shadows, though the skill has largely been lost as the Ancient population dwindled._

_ Unlike vampires, an Ancient can not be 'turned', or other such nonsense. Numerous benefits can be obtained through willingly given blood of Ancients, but anyone gifted with it couldn't hope to compare to a vampire's skill. One must be born an Ancient. It's one of the few races that can co-exist with another race in an individual's blood. Due to the rarity of birth and this compatibility, pure-blooded Ancients became extinct centuries ago with the death of Thorius Peverell in 1272._

Alright, Ancients were covered. So how was it impossible for a single book he'd found thus far to contain a _reference_ to Shadow Elves? At least with the Ancients, he'd found discrepancies between whether they were the same as vampires, or a different creature altogether. _The Magical Creatures of the World _by Miranda Goshawk had been a blatant example of that – she'd used the terms interchangeably, while older books contained separate entries for the two creatures. Yetthe only mention of 'elves' in **any **of his books were _house-elves_, and he did _not_ have any of Dobby's characteristics.

Let's see…short stature? No. Big, floppy ears? No. Need to serve another? No. Clumsy speech? Assuredly not.

So _what_, exactly, were shadow elves? Harry grit his teeth, and quelled the urge to destroy something. _'He wasn't going to find anything, was he?'_ Harry thought. The steam built up in his head, his eyes hardened, and his mouth thinned gradually.

Until at once, the stress and frustration lifted from his face. He took a deep breath. _'Might as well explore a bit, if I can't get work done_'. With that idea, the new Rider cradled his amethyst familiar, and searched his mind for a decent protection. With a glint, he cast on his dragon. _Occulto Hostilis! Expulso Hostilis!_ _Silencio Hostilis! Repello Muggletum! Salvio Hexlia!_ He watched as the threads of light wound themselves about his dragon, cocooning it in protection.

Satisfied with the concealment wards, Harry strode out of his tent. The sight that greeted him was a casual one. Soldiers walked about freely, as if time were no longer of the essence. Crates upon crates of weapons, supplies, and rations were shuffled around. Several healers moved from tent to tent, briefly checking on the better-faring patients. Yet, the foremost note was that his wards from the previous day were visible.

No, not just visible: they were alive and flowing freely. Apparently his inheritance _had_ been a huge lightshow. He understood why Arya and Angela had stayed in his tent the night previous. Going out to a mob to explain…_this_…was not an enviable task.

Well, there would be more times to dawdle and stare. Looking presentable for the first time in three years, Harry strode through the area, comparing it to home. The technology – compared to the muggles' capability – was lacking. Was he in the middle ages? It was such a stark contrast as he went from area to area: The normal people were simple, the technology non-existent, the conditions sub-par. The magic-wielders were similar, but they had an air about them.

In fact, almost all the magic wielders had a pale pink aura about them…wait, since when had he seen that? It gave him the impression of weakness; indeed, he had yet to see any complicated magic occur. Yet this hadn't been in the books about Ancients. Was this everyone got after inheritance? A family trait? Something to do with his creature blood? And then, which creature?

A strangled yelp peaked his interest, and he strode towards the mortified sound…only to become incensed at the sight. It was the person from yesterday, the bloody wanker who tried to steal his dragon egg and had the ego to outstrip Malfoy. Irwin, wasn't that his name? Probably, and he didn't much care. No, it was the scene that was catching his attention.

The ponce was mirroring Uncle Vernon as another magic-user lectured him. Judging from the smell of herbs wafting through the air, he'd guess the person was a healer.

At last, the person finished, and Harry waited for the prat's reaction. He wasn't disappointed. Steam blew out the royal's ears. He responded in a sickly-sweet voice, the kind that someone employs just before torturing you.

"If you do that, you've disobeyed a member of the royal court. And _that_ would constitute treason, you know. Now, what is the penalty for treason, hmm?" He leered, trying to cow the healer. "Ah, yes. It's death. Now _**shut up!**__"_ He exploded before stomping off.

Smothering a chuckle, he narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. Where was the highest concentration of magic, or the most powerful magic-user? Surely there would be some entertainment there! But it seemed like intermittent puddles of pale pink everywhere in front of him.

He turned around, and grinned. There were three differing colors crowded together. A pale orange was clustered with a vibrant green and sapphire blue. Noting the lack of activity nearby – watching Irwin be pestered wasn't exactly on par with watching quidditch – he headed off in the new colors' direction.

****HP/Eragon****

****HP/Eragon****

The impromptu meeting between Eragon, Arya, and Nasuada was just winding down when a loud knock interrupted. Nasuada raised an eyebrow.

"What on Alagaesia…?" Nasuada, who was typically collected if not unflappable, was surprised. "Who would want to speak with me now? I informed Orrin that I'd be busy today," she stated.

Beside her, Eragon turned. "Should I check?" At the barest nod, he rose and made his way to the entrance.

The man he saw there was unusual. Raven hair almost had a midnight blue sheen to it. The skin was pale, a tone that he'd only seen on the sick or the elves. He barely took note of the slightly pointed ears to focus on the creature in the man's arms with shock.

_Since when had there been another Rider (besides himself, Galbatorix, and Oromis)?_

"So you see him?" The stranger asked, interrupting his stare.

Eragon raised an eyebrow. It nearly went up to his hairline. Was he missing something? Of course he could see the dragon, it was _right there_!

"Should I not?" While polite, the tone was affronted. But the stranger just smiled back thinly.

"It merely means something, and only certain people should be able to see him. So don't mention it unless another notices it too, alright? And even then, just keep it between that person," the newcomer requested.

Harry looked at the person he'd answered curiously. He radiated sapphire blue, but all the colors were starting to ache his eyes. Hopefully he could control this sight later. The answerer to his knock spoke again.

"May I ask why you're here?"

Another pleasant smile. "I was bored, I felt like walking around, and I wanted to see why this tent seemed interesting. Would you know where Arya is, by chance?" He inquired.

Eragon's eyes narrowed, his temper flaring. "What do you want with her," he asked in a barely controlled voice.

_My, my, quite touchy over her, it seems._ "I have business with her, and I need to discuss logistics." _There, everything and nothing at the same time._

His glance strayed to the dragon – Harry _really_ needed to name the creature – and strode back inside the tent. Seeing no sign against following, Harry proceeded through the entrance too. There was a slight passage that separated the resident's quarters from the tent entrance which he quickly traversed.

Besides the person who answered his knock, there were two others waiting. One, he recognized. Arya, in all her pointed-ear glory, was sitting across the room. Beside her was a woman wearing a circlet. Her skin was a similar color to Dean's…wait, when was the last time he'd thought of Dean? Or Seamus? Or anyone from that time?

The two woman, as well as the answerer, were looking at him strangely. He realized he was staring.

"Sorry, you just…remind me of someone." Thankfully, he didn't turn somber in that sentence.

The dark-skinned woman gazed critically. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

Harry smiled a disarming grin. "For the first question, I'm Harry Black. As to the second, I wanted to sate my curiosity. Plus, I wanted to talk to Arya if she has a spare minute. Now that I've given my name, who are _you_?"

They were silent. Feeling curious, he tried out passive legilimency – Ancients were supposed to be naturals at it – and skimmed the surface of their feelings and thoughts. Arya felt amusement. From the door-answerer, he got a myriad of emotions – surprise, annoyance, and a feeling of alienation. The dark-skinned woman was fairly simple in comparison to her servant. She was calculating, but surprised too. She had some curiosity as well – he guessed due to his sudden appearance.

At last, however, it was the dark woman that answered. "You may call me Lady Nasuada, and to the right of me is Eragon." She paused, mincing her words. "Arya, do you know who he is?"

"He's the man that Angela found, and who was in a scuffle with Orrin's men yesterday," she replied pleasantly.

Nasuada's eyes lit up. "Oh, the one with the egg?" At Arya's lack of denial, she continued. "I apologize for him, Orrin is irrational on occasion, and bends to his advisors' whims. However, I'd like to offer you a place among the Varden."

Receiving a calculating feel from the passive legilimency, Harry declined. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to Arya about. If the offer is still open, I'll take the last option, but would like to discuss logistics of getting there."

A weight in Harry's arms shifted during that sentence. The dragon was starting to stir. _Shoot_, he needed to return to his tent quickly. Turning to face Arya, he spoke.

"As you can guess, I'm free anytime you are. I'll be at my tent doing work. Good bye, Lady, Eragon, Arya." He turned around and left.

Eragon spoke up. "I'll take my leave, my Lady." He followed the man.

They were almost back at Harry's tent when Eragon caught up with him.

"Hey, why'd you leave?"

Harry slowed down as he passed through the wards on his tent, Eragon following him. "He was starting to wake up," gesturing to the dragon in his arms.

Eragon smiled. "He's a bit like Saphira at that age…" he wistfully remarked. Returning to his original puzzlement, Eragon pressed, "But why did you have to leave because of him waking up?"

"He might've broken the wards on him."

"You mentioned something like that before, what'd you mean?"

Checking that the silencing wards were still in place around his home, Harry answered. "The wards were designed to do one thing primarily. Nobody untrustworthy would be able to see him. You can, which speaks well. Arya, I've deduced, is too."

He could hear the gears turning in Eragon's head. "And Nasuada? She could too, right?"

Eragon received a cold, impassive gaze as response. "Why do you think she mentioned the egg, but not see the creature in my arms? No, she could not."

"But Nasuada is a great, valiant woman!"

The newer Rider sighed. "What do you call a person who's loving to his wife and children, coming home early from work every day to spend time with them, and who also betrays his best friend? A family man, or a traitor? People have masks for different people. Perhaps the Lady is genuinely nice to you, I do not know. What I _can_ be sure of is that right now, I will not rely on her."

The blue Rider looked at Black for several minutes. Harry held his gaze, the emerald eyes displaying neither heat nor frostiness.

Black spoke up. "Hopefully, you do not have to worry of such things. I've dealt with it my entire life, however, and this will be normal for me."

The near-elf Rider, who was holding his breath, as if to begin a rant, deflated. "Very well. Friends?" He held his hand out.

Harry reflected for a brief moment. It could do no harm. "Friends," he affirmed, grasping Eragon's hand in his own and shaking.

**A/N**

_Alright, there's Chapter 5. And I _did_ manage to get it out within my 2 week deadline. Now, there's a few things I want to ask your opinions on:_

_1) Is anyone interested in beta'ing? Mostly, it would just consist of ensuring that I stick to my self-imposed deadlines, as well as minor editing and giving me new ideas to implement. If you are interested, just PM me...I might then learn where the inbox is :)_

_2) Any ideas for the dragon's name? I really want to have him named by next Inheritance chapter (I think the next update will be another interlude). _

_If you're interested in suggesting a name, I'd ask that it fit the following criteria:_

_ a) It's not another character's name (in either HP or Inheritance universe) who's alive...founders are ok._

_ b) No Marauder names - I'm considering whether to make one later_

_ c) It must have a genuine meaning - don't just suggest something from a medeival name generator or something like it_

_3) I think I'll have to increase the time between chapters - I've gotten really absorbed into a short-story-that-isn't-really-short-anymore (it went from 2 to 7 pages, and I'm going to expand the plot to make it over 50). It's monopolizing all my creativity at the moment. It won't be drastic, but I might take 3 weeks instead of 2. If I post another chapter before New Year's, it'll be a miracle._

_And now, to answer review questions:_

_chippermovie: I basically identify plot points to cover in chapters, and then write as much as it takes to fit and make sense. I _could_ lengthen chapters, but then I'd take over a month to post. I'm sorry if you don't like it as much, but that's my style at the moment._

_bobolink: Harry's departure will have political effects in Britain, plain and simple. I haven't decided whether it should affect Alagaesia, but it boosts my creativity. Plus, they're fun to write. If you have any specific ideas, feel free to suggest them._

_nim istar: the interaction between HP magic and Inheritance magic is something I'm still working out the kinks with. Consider magic as the same, but the energy source as slightly different. What I've written about the colors this chapter is really important in how it works, if you can figure it out._

_My not reading Brisingr is part of why I'm considering a beta: I know some ideas from the book, but I'm literally too busy to read a 500-page book. And during vacation, I'm visiting family, so I'll spend all my time with them._

_Mcv: Some ideas from Brisingr might be taken, but considering I haven't read (20 pages before I return the book to a friend doesn't count) it, NWNH will probably be a bit AU._

_Raven, Oden, and Katsy: Thanks for the praise_

_Amethystnight: thanks - sometimes hearing recommendations over pairings gets a bit overwhelming. I'm torn between giving what reviewers ask for (namely, a pairing), and plodding on with the plot. Your comment was refreshing._

_ How Harry will find out is dependent on whether I make the Interludes affect Alagaesia, or keep it as a seperate story to amuse myself and others. I'm still not sure._

_DDubs: I don't really think NWNH will be slash. Heck, I can't imagine an opposite-sex pairing either. Rest assured that I'll let readers know if I plan slash._

_For animagus forms, I'm toying with the idea of making him an original Marauder. I still have one gripe with that idea, so it isn't definite, but thanks for the suggestions. It helped me narrow down what I wanted from the animagus form. It definitely will _not_ be a magical creature._

_And, Harry/Saphira would be sickening. Though it was funny when I read it._

_Count Alexander: I know about the stories, it frustrated me to no end when none of them were finished! If I ever did abandon the story (which I can't foresee anyway), I'd at least publish notes on what I planned, or let someone else adopt it._

_I'm considering a snake, but it's not definite yet. Though I wouldn't say even if it was to keep the surprise there. In truth, I haven't even decided whether he should already have one, or learn it while with the Elves. _

_Hanzo: Thanks._

_Skipernicus & Dark Dragen: Thank you for the praise_

_HeartsGlow: I left a hint in this chapter. If you get it...actually, I can't promise anything. But kudos to you! You actually reminded me of the fact - I came up with the reason while writing this chapter._

_Smither: Possibly, but I don't see it happening right now. Things might change between Harry & the ambassador, though._

_jabar, chrin, and g4rrt: Thanks for the praise._

_You know what's sad? I wrote 1000 words just answering reviews. The A/N's & Reviews probably take 1/5 of the actual words in this story. The true chapter length is about 2200 words._


	7. Interlude 2

**A/N:** Thanks to everybody who offered to be a beta, I've found someone who I'm happy to be working with – Amethystnight88 - not that that reflects badly on anyone else, though.

Thanks for all the Dragon name suggestions, it really helped me figure out what I wanted in it… (though it makes me think of Juliet's "what's in a name" soliloquoy). I'll probably use it in the next chapter. (Hint: Something the Black family would use)

Sorry I took longer than usual to update, but I did warn that it would be a while. Midyears are coming up though, so I probably wont' work much on this in the next couple weeks.

And thanks for reviewing, it's a real confidence-boost to see the feedback.

New Warnings: Potential character death and demonization. Retrospective Dumbledore criticism. It's not set in stone, but be warned that I'm considering it.

...OO.O

On Sunday afternoon, dozens of wizards and witches all departed to the Ministry of Magic. They all were purebloods, rich, and influential. More importantly, or perhaps because of those traits, those dozens of magical people were all members of the prestigious legislative body of the British Wizarding World: the Wizengamot.

It was rather sad that there was a 2 o'clock meeting every week on this day, for the sun was shining - it was the first time since the will reading of Harry Potter, 5 days prior.

With all the deliberate speed known to sedentary lawmakers, the sixty seats were soon enough filled. The Potter seat, without a wizard of age to claim it, had been delegated to a Mr. Ronald Weasley by the Wizengamot's head and Minister of Magic himself: Draconus Lucius Malfoy. In fact, the Minister had seized the Black seat as well. His aunt, Andromeda Black Tonks, was unable to have it due to her disinheritance.

Minister Malfoy toyed with his gavel absently while the room slowly filed in. It was 2:10, and the Wizengamot's quorum was 40 seats..there were 39 present. Yet he wouldn't sigh.

It would be far beneath him, a _Malfoy_, to act like a commoner. So he mentally groaned. He distracted himself with thoughts of his wife. She was pregnant, he suspected; it was subtle at the moment, and he wouldn't guess her at more than two months, but the bump was most definitely there. The perfect home life, a beautiful wife and carefree son. Draco mentally traced the steps his son would take in childhood. His first word, first bout of accidental magic, first attendance to a formal ball, and his first day at school. His son – if Astoria did not bear him a son the first time around, she would the second – would be perfect in every way. Just like him. He'd cultivate a large following in Slytherin, that was for sure…

Except he wouldn't be going to Hogwarts, would he? Bloody Potter. Perhaps it was a good thing regardless: Draco had wanted to attend Durmstrang anyway, but Mother had had a sentimental fit when Father had voiced the thought.

Yes, his son would be able to attend a school that was _worth_ its salt. And its house-elves. He wouldn't have Gryffindor trash in the same _building_ as his precious son.

Emerging from his reverie, Draco subtly smartened his robes. If another person would just _bloody_ enter, then this waste of an afternoon could be over.

When would another bloody person enter!

Answering his demands – Malfoys don't pray – Susan Bones walked in, azure robes billowing behind her. About time, the worthless skank! With a wave of his wand and a whispered _Colloportus_ – it inspired fear in his sheep, to know that he was adept as silent casting – the doors closed and everyone's attention was caught. Excited whispers began breaking out.

He pounded his gavel furiously, casting _Sonorus_ on himself at the same time.

"**Order!"** He commanded the Wizengamot members, drowning out the whispers in the process. "**A quorum has convened, we may now begin procedures! Are there any who have motions to file?**" No hands were raised.

"**Very well. We will now begin discussion on-"** the doors to the Court 1, the Wizengamot meeting room, burst open and swung into the walls with a loud crash.

As per the enchantments, the doors stuck to the walls – the story went that an arrogant wizard had blown the doors back and got slammed when they bounced back, breaking his nose. After that, the doors had been spelled to stick unless intentionally closed.

A well-dressed goblin – now wasn't _that_ a joke, lowly filth – marched forward and unfurled a scroll within his grasp. Two lines of armed goblins walked behind him, all pausing at set intervals and turning to face the opposite line, their pikes at the ready.

"Announcing the Head of Windsor House, Elizabeth the Second!" The initial goblin proclaimed. At his words, an old woman – wasn't_ she_ just a hag, Malfoy noted dryly – strode into the doorway.

"**What is the meaning of this?" **The _Sonorus_ hadn't been cancelled, and the magnified voice seemed incredibly loud now.

Nothing reflected in her wizened face. She didn't even quirk an eyebrow. "Perhaps you could be helpful by defining your designation of 'this'," the woman prodded.

"**I am referring to your rude interruption of this meeting, the presence of such **_**filth**_**," **Draco sneered at the goblins, several of whom rattled their pikes, "**and your reason for being here in the first place. Now, Ms. Windsor, care to elaborate?**"

The bint ignored him! She glanced around the room, surveying the people present with an impassive expression. After viewing everyone else, the woman centered on him.

_About time. I _am_ the most important person here._ He inwardly smirked.

She opened her mouth. "Well, Minister, I am here for several things. The first of which is to claim several seats that belong to me. Specifically, the Potter and Black seats." Beside him, Weasley sputtered, his face darknening.

"What're you going on about! This seat belongs to me!" The redhead declared angrily, his gaze narrowing. Draco banged his gavel once, and resumed the questioning. **"Ms. Windsor, by what justification do you claim two seats in this body?**"

Her frown deepened. "You may address me as Lady Windsor, Minister. These two seats are mine because the last owner willed them to me."

"LIES!" Weasley yelled. "We deserve them after all the shit that traitor made us go through!"

Elizabeth turned slightly to him, and withdrew a scroll from the inside of her robe. Opening it, she held it by the top. "According to the will of Mr. Potter-Black, the head of the Windsor family is granted everything. It's all in the written document accompanying his pensieve will. That includes his legislative position. So, I will have to ask that you depart, Mr. Weasley, lest you force my guards to escort you out. Minister, you will also relinquish the Black seat, or face the consequence of breaking the Wizengamot charter – a magical document."

Whispers broke out.

...OO...OO.O

It was rather lucky that Malfoys had such pale skin to begin with, or someone may have noticed it blanch at her proclamation. Making mental calculations in his head, he concluded that her threat may have been very real.

However, the Wizengamot's charter _also_ let its members decide who met requirements to be admitted. It was a formality, but it could be beneficial here. None of his bloc would vote to remove a seat from him.

"**Order! We will take a vote on whether to allow Ms. Windsor into this prestigious body. All in favor, raise your wands."** About ten people did so, not really paying attention.

"**All opposed!**" The moment he rose his wand, his fellow Slytherins followed. Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Parkinson, Greengrass, Zabini, and Flint – his peers who took the seats after their parents got carted off to Azkaban – lifted. Weasley also raised, as did Edgecombe. Thanks to Weasley, the Hufflepuff fools – Smith and MacMillan, for two – joined in.

Malfoy sneered at the intruder.

"**This vote has been cast, Ms. Windsor is barred from assuming a place in this body. Please vacate the room**, **Ms. Windsor**."

The boy expected her to leave at his whim? Minister Malfoy, as her goblin advisors had told her, was arrogant, ostentatious, and obscenely rude, yet he was glaringly so in person. Thankfully, it didn't matter whether she got the seats immediately. There were two more orders of business to accomplish.

"I'm afraid that will have to wait, Minister, for several other orders of business.'

"**Ms. Windsor, you will leave now. Aurors!"** The duo of aurors in the back of the room, usually there for formality's sake, jumped up. **"Escort Ms. Windsor out of this chamber."** Two goblins stepped forth to ward them off the minute they started.

"That was incredibly disrespectful, Minister. Now, I have a procedure that can only be performed in front of this body, and I will proceed to do so." She paused, before resuming.

"I, Elizabeth, Queen of England and the British Isles, do hereby assert my status as heir-designate to the Title and Position of Monarch of Magic for England and the British Isles." A white glow began surrounding her and radiated through the room. Had her eyes been open, she could have seen plethora of expressions. Some were confused, others were awe-struck, and yet more were shocked. Yet a sizable portion of the members were also narrowing their eyes.

"I, Elizabeth, Queen of England and the British Isles, heir-designate to the Title and Position of Monarch of Magic for England and the British Isles, do hereby assume the Title and Position of Monarch of Magic for England and the British Isles." A stronger glow replaced the old one, brightening the room farther.

"I, Elizabeth, Queen and Monarch of Magic for England and the British Isles, do hereby assume the Monarch's entitled position as Head of the Wizengamot. I do also hereby assume my presidence over the Ministry of Magic." The glow turned blinding, causing all but the goblin guards to shield their eyes.

When the light faded, Elizabeth appraised them all. Many more were confused than previously, but the portion of members that comprehended her statements were beet-red. In fact, it was verging on purple.

The Monarch continued. "I will hereby assume the Potter and Black seats, as I am now a member of this body by the position accorded to me as Monarch. Now, Minister, will you yield your seat?"

From her view, he wouldn't be doing anything of the sort. "Aurors, arrest her! _Stupefy!"_ Malfoy shouted. The streak of red light shot towards her, but a goblin guard – one of the two warding off an Auror – conjured a shield to absorb the hit.

Mentally noting to thank several people at Gringotts later, Elizabeth began speaking. "Guards, please arrest the Minister and place him in a holding cell."

It barely took five secods to accomplish. Two apparated behind Draco. Quickly snatching his wand, they placed magic-restraining handcuffs on.

He'd barely gotten his bearings before they were leading him out the room. He squealed and tried to shove them off, so the one watching his back poked a pike into his spine roughly, forcing him forward into the other guard. Malfoy muttered obscenities as the door shut behind them with a thud.

...O

Elizabeth shifted her glance to the red-haired and freckled boy. "Mr. Weasley, I will ask that you relinquish the Potter seat and exit before I have my guards remove you too."

Unlike the Minister, who could have stayed due to the Malfoy seat and his government position, the red-haired boy was only allowed in due to her grandson's birthright. She hardened her gaze as he paled and feverishly ran out of the room.

With those two gone, Elizabeth ascended the steps leading to the center chair, which Malfoy had so recently occupied. It was high-backed, meant to look imposing, but such a pose was routine for the Queen.

She stopped in front of the chair, and pulled a second scroll out. "By order of the Monarch and this body, charges are made against the following persons:

Against Draconus Malfoy, two counts of using an Unforgivable Curse, one count of assault, and unnumbered counts of accessory to murder and torture.

Against Ronald Weasley, use of an Unforgivable Curse, perjury, bribery, corruption, libel, and denial of justice.

Against Hermione Granger Weasley, perjury, bribery, libel, and denial of justice.

Against Ginerva Weasley, perjury, bribery, libel, and four counts of attempted murder.

Against Fred Weasley, embezzlement of funds.

Against George Weasley, embezzlement of funds.

Against Percival Weasley, perjury, bribery, libel, and denial of justice.

Against Minerva McGonagall, perjury, and denial of justice.

Against Rita Skeeter, failure to register an Animagus form, libel, slander, publication of a minor's name.

Against Dolores Umbridge, possession of an illegal artifact, unnumbered counts of use of an illegal artifact and torture, child abuse, attempted use of an Unforgivable Curse, attempted murder, and unnumbered counts of improper sentencing.

Against the Wizengamot body and court, one count of breach of law, and denial of justice.

Against Andromeda Black, one count of child neglect. The monarch further sues for removal of custody of one Teddy Remus Lupin.

Against Cornelius Fudge, slander of a minor in publication, accessory to child abuse, and denial of justice.

Against Marietta Edgecombe, accessory to torture.

Against the _Daily Prophet_, unnumbered counts of slander of a minor in publication, libel, publication of a minor's name.

Against deceased Bartemius Crouch, use of an Unforgivable and denial of justice.

Against deceased Bartemius Crouch Junior, kidnapping, attempted murder, attempted use of an Unforgivable curse, accessory to murder.

Against deceased Peter Pettigrew, corruption, use of an Unforgivable, unnumbered counts of accessory to murder, and one count of murder.

Against deceased Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, perjury, embezzlement of funds, harboring an escaped criminal, denial of justice, improper withholding of legal documents, accessory to child neglect, accessory to child abuse.

Against the Ministry of Magic, unnumbered counts of libel." Elizabeth ceased reading from her lengthy scroll, and looked up.

Everyone had been silent the entire time. She inwardly smirked. Petunia and Vernon Dursley had already been arrested in the muggle world for child neglect – St. Brutus didn't exist, and they hadn't listed her grandson as homeschooled. The six years at Hogwarts were thus spent outside of school in the eyes of British law, a legal requirement until seventeen.

Revenge for her grandson was going to be fun, even if he had already taken it on his own.

"Owls will be sent to all Wizengamot members for the trial dates. As Monarch, I hereby dismiss this body. We will adjourn in one week."

She descended the steps to her goblin entourage, and when they signaled their preparedness, Elizabeth departed from the chamber as other began rising out of their seats.

...O

The next day, a front-page article ran in the _Daily Prophet_.

_**UPHEAVAL OF THE WIZENGAMOT!**_

_Yesterday afternoon, the weekly meeting of the Wizengamot was abruptly interrupted! According to an unnamed source, a woman who claimed to Lady Windsor demanded the Potter and Black seats, which were occupied by Minister Malfoy and Mr. Ronald Weasley, the famed prosecutor and star witness respectively in the Harry Potter trial. The Wizengamot used a formality to deny 'Lady Windsor' her claims: The legislative body is allowed to decide who is admitted as a member, and in a 10-15 vote with 15 members abstaining, rejected her. Lady Windsor refused to leave and declared herself Monarch of Magic for England and the British Isles, thus seizing the Black and Potter seats._

_According to historian Penelope Clearwater, the position of Monarch of Magic exists._

"_It's a title that died out long ago," she says, "when the royal family of Muggle England became a Squib line. The Monarch can preside over whatever government the Wizarding World sets up, in all three 'branches', as muggles call it: Executive, which carries out the law; Legislative, which creates the law (aka, the Wizengamot); and Judicial, which carries out trials and sentencing (also the Wizengamot). The last person to assume it was James V of Scotland, but he seldom exercised the authority granted to him."_

_Asked if anyone alive could claim the position, Clearwater was unsure. "None of the Muggle royal family has shown any inclination of magic, and could only access the Wizarding World by invitation. It's possible, but unlikely."_

_After taking the role of Monarch – legitimately or not – 'Lady Windsor' proceeded in arresting Minister Malfoy thanks to her entourage of goblin guards and dismissed Mr. Weasley from the Wizengamot Chamber. She listed a string of charges against a litany of people, informed the members that owls would be sent as to the trial dates, and departed. Charges were levied against such people and entities as Minister Malfoy, members of the Weasley family, former minister Cornelius Fudge, Albus Dumbledore, this prestigious newspaper, and Order of Merlin 1__st__ class recipient Peter Pettigrew._

_This reporter would like to know who this 'Lady Windsor' is, and whether it bears any relation to the Head of Windsor House mentioned in the dead Boy-Who-Betrayed's will. The _Prophet_ will keep its readers informed and up-to-date on all the happenings in this recent scandal._

Original Chapter length: 2700ish words.

A/N: If you didn't understand some of the charges, don't worry: I'll explain them in the next Interlude (whenever _that_ will be). I might post one to every 2-4 chapters.

...OO..OOO..OO.O.O.O.O.O.O...OOOO..OOOO..OOOOO..OOOOO..OOOOO...OOOOOO..OOOOO..OOOOOO

Review time! Someone mentioned that authors aren't supposed to answer reviews in their chapters. Is that a FFN rule, or just something that people in general do? (The PMs don't strike me all that well) I've seen other authors do this, so I'm not sure what to think.

Namingsucks: Not commenting on pairing, thanks for the understanding.

Count…Black: I know (I realized it about the day after I posted, but I did rush the last 1000 words of that chapter out. Go figure )

Hanzo….Salamander: Thanks for the suggestion.

Dainlord: Maybe yes, maybe no: I refuse to say it outright, but one can infer to an extent.

Amethyst:

Chippermovie: Don't worry, it's difficult to for me to get offended. Especially on the internet. I'm glad you were at least expressing your thoughts, so I know what a reader is thinking.

DDubs: Thanks for the suggestions & feedback. And no commenting on pairings, on my part

JD: Thanks, I did realize that after you mentioned it. I'm working on it, so feel free to say if it doesn't get better.

Master of the Blood Wolves: Read the warnings at the top of this chapter

…and so I did, about Murtagh. Hopefully I'll remember to fix it

Janelly: Thanks for the feedback

Bikiluf: That was a little too critical – "this heritage stuff _better_ be significant_"…_I **do**_** know what **_**I'm doing**. And this story just takes Occlumency & Legilimency in a different perspective, since the two forms of magic need to find a compromise. Sorry if it doesn't fit your view of it.

Oden: Thanks for the suggestions & feedback.

Saedame: Thanks for the suggestions & offer, though I'd already found a beta by the time I'd read your review.

Silvereyed Queen: Thanks for the suggestions – it helped me figure out what the name would be based on.

The-new-black: Thanks for the feedback

James018: I realize that I should read Brisingr, but I feel at the same time that I might be skewed to just follow the storyline. (I'm hoping for more creativity in this). Thanks for the suggestions, advice, and feedback.

Ero-Senin: Thanks for the praise.

Blood Brandy: (huge grin)

Garm88: Thanks for feedback. I realize that readers might not, but it's too fun to write for me to ignore.

Concealed Convict: Answering them in the story is more fun for me (for some reason, I don't like PMs much on FFN). Tell me if the detail is improving, since I realize that was a huge fault.

Iziie Lestrange: Thanks for the feedback. The lessons will be different than those of Eragon's, but hopefully they'll still be great.

Howlingwindofthestorm, eikka492, harrymania, crusaders564: Thanks, all of you

Tmctflyboy: Thanks, and sorry that he's going to be male. It just seemed like a no-brainer to me, and I wouldn't know how to write a female dragon…the idea daunts me.

Ethorin: Cliches are cliché for a reason – they're easy, and efficient. Thanks for the favorite.

Master Brattan:

Joanna: Thanks for the suggestions

Fallen-Petals: Perhaps, but I've seen others do it, and it feels more personal.

Bydd byth: Advice is taken into account

DragonBlade: Thanks for the feedback

VynoxNeptune: Thanks for the feedback


	8. Chapter 6

(New?) Warnings: Character deaths referred to. But if you've read Eldest, you're intimately acquainted with that (Hrothgar & Ajihad), right?

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_Chapter 6_

The two Riders stood in the doorway of Harry's tent, wondering what to say after the sudden declaration of friendship. The silence was palpable, but it relaxed more than stifled. At last, one voiced his question.

"Have you named him?" Eragon indicated the sleeping dragon with a gesture of his hand.

Harry looked at the bundle in his arms. "Not yet. Besides, I'd want him to approve of it before I just start calling him a random name out of the blue."

Eragon quirked his lips, remembering the experience of naming Saphira. She'd shot down every name until he realized that Saphira was a _she_. "Why not just wake him up and ask him?" Eragon outstretched his hand to touch it, but Harry quickly stepped back.

He reinforced his hold on the amethyst dragon, and leveled a glare at his new friend. "_Never_ tickle a sleeping dragon."

The Shadeslayer smiled. "That's true. Saphira would probably eat me alive if I tried that on her."

The comment made Harry think for a moment. He had no idea how to care for a dragon, and he'd be damned if he became reliant on another. "Any advice for taking care of a dragon?" He queried of Eragon.

He paused in a reflective expression. "There isn't much to say. They're carnivores, but they hunt on their own once they're old enough. Just work on the mind link for communication between the two of you. And _never_ ride one without a saddle." His face had a hint of pain and outrage in it.

"Is there a story to that last bit?" The corners of his mouth threatened to turn upward.

A surly voice replied, "I'm not telling."

Harry smirked. "Fine. But what'd you mean about the mind link?"

Eragon looked at him strangely. "Right, I forgot that it's not common. You know how you speak through your mouth normally? Think of reaching out to the dragon, into its mind, and speak through that channel."

A light bulb lit up above Harry's head. "Like with the weird cat?"

"You met Solembum?"

"Briefly, he wasn't the best conversationist though."

Eragon's lips pursed. "That's true. He's still a great help if he takes a liking to you, though. But talk to your dragon in the same way as you did with Solembum."

The two kept up their conversation for a while longer, before Eragon had to meet with Saphira and Roran. Harry shook his head as his conversationist left. A fool's errand was one thing; a Gryffindor's planning was another.

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One day later, the armies were all returning home. The dwarves and Varden packed up and began traveling back to the Beors. The Urgals wandered off to their homeland. The Surdan Court dismissed the bulk of its army, with a small contingent as guards assembling for the journey to Aberon. Eragon, Roran, and Saphira took flight to Helgrind. The villagers of Carvahall attached themselves to King Orrin.

As for Harry, his dragon, and Arya? They were on broomsticks, as per their plans, despite the ambassador's initial mortification. The elf's initial idea was to traverse the dwarven cities and travel up the river that ended in Tarnag, but Po- _Black_, as he decided to be called, had suggested a faster method.

Really, a _broom_? What use was sweeping? But he'd pulled one out in the Room of Requirement – no use creating another commotion outside - made the room become a giant field, and _flew_.

Arya hadn't had any major arguments after that. It had been a slight struggle to balance herself on a twig, especially when her only experience was Saphira – and she had been unconscious for that - but the broom was easily maneuvered. Their next issue had been how to bring Harry's dragon – who still remained unnamed – along with them. He wasn't old enough to fly too far, and he couldn't maintain the same speed as a broom.

Thankfully, the solution had been rather simple. The Rider took a basket, enlarged it, and stuck it to the front end of his broom with magic. A Sticking Charm, he relayed afterward.

With two brooms and a basket, all that remained was waiting for the bulk of the army to leave before they did the seemingly impossible and flew without dragons.

Thus, Arya was stuck on her own. Black was doing something or other in his trunk. _Protection_, he claimed. In the meantime, she was making pleasantries and saying farewells to the Surdans.

The Urgals had been the first to leave, the Dwarves and Varden next. And now? She was seeing the Surdans depart - as soon as Orrin, with his pack of Council sycophants, would finish up the discussion he was currently forcing upon her. Was such a thing not meant to be?

"Ambassador, please send word of the dragon egg's condition upon your return home."

"And of what concern is the egg to you, King Orrin?"

"Arya, that egg could shape this war for good!"

The elf gazed in a bored manner at the Surdan noble. "Excuse me, King Orrin, you may address me as Ambassador, and nothing else at this time. And I believe you are presuming too much: No Rider would be ready to fight for a good while, and a dragon takes time to grow. Or do you expect it to reach Saphira's size after a week?" She challenged him.

Orrin's face blanched. "I…apologize, Ambassador Svit-Kona. But nevertheless, the idea of a second Rider on our side would boost morale greatly." _He plans to tell, she mused._

"I do hope you realize that dragons can wait centuries before hatching, King Orrin. This one may not hatch until the war has been over for decades. It would be unfortunate to promise troops something that never materializes," Arya smoothly concluded.

Orrin coughed. "Yes, well…I actually must confess that I witnessed something rather odd."

_Harry and the dragon never left the tent after the visit to Nasuada. Orrin couldn't have entered it either_. "And what would that be?"

"About a day after that…_incident_…Angela approached Nasuada and I – we were in a meeting at the time – to inform us of what occurred during that…light show. Yet, no words left her lips. It was as though she were unable to speak of the event, and unfortunately collapsed shortly after." _Something happened, and we know that it did. What is it?_

"Perhaps it was simply the strain of tending to all of Mr. Black's injuries. He was, as you know, severely injured upon arrival." _And yet you tried to steal the egg anyway_. "Also, I saw Angela up and about later that day. Surely she informed you then, of whatever she saw fit?"

King Orrin coughed. Again. "Actually, Ambassador, no. When she woke up, Angela could not recall attempting to tell us anything at all. Perhaps you know what she was trying to say?"

_Barzuln._ "There was nothing of great importance that occurred. Mr. Black was just recuperating from a coming-of-age ritual that he performed. The backlash was due to the time he waited before doing it." _If that doesn't satisfy you…_

"Ritual? What ritual?"

"As I said, a coming of age ritual. It is done by everyone in his community at a certain age, but Mr. Black was unable to do so before now due to unfortunate circumstances. There is nothing of note that occurred, as he collapsed after its conclusion. And Mr. Black and I need to be on our way. Farewell, King Orrin." After he recognized the dismissal, Arya turned around and walked the path back to Harry's tent.

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Half an hour later, the Surdan army had finally departed, making its way to Aberon. Harry vanished his tent, and shrunk his trunk. Placing it on the necklace he'd spent preparing while Arya droned through diplomacy, he then added _impervius_, notice-me-not, and unbreakable charms. He lifted it above his head, and let it fall onto him. Once it dangled securely from his neck, he took his broom in one hand, his dragon in the other.

Arya was waiting for him, the broom he'd given her earlier lying at the elf's feet. She saw his approach, and nodded her recognition of his arrival. It was a quick wait before he was at her side, turning to face her.

"Ready, Arya?" His face was indiscernible. It looked impassive, but there were emotions playing behind the mask.

"Up," she spoke. Her tone was disbelieving yet amused. Despite that, the broom shot up into her temporary caretaker's hand. Now that both had a broom in hand, they mounted and kicked off.

Harry allowed Arya to set the pace of their travel. It was _her_ first time flying, after all. Well, flying on a broomstick at least. She seemed daring to start out. The initial speed was what Harry would've guessed to be normal speed for a dragon Saphira's size, as he assumed that Arya had flown on the sapphire-scaled creature previously. But within an hour she was doubling that speed. If he had to guess, he'd say they were heading at 60 kilometers per hour.

The ride was silent for the three hours. It was as the terrain turned into a desert that he noticed Arya become shocked.

"How fast are we traveling?" She asked with a level tone.

He repeated what had just gone through his mind. "If I had to guess, I'd wager about sixty per hour."

Arya rose a brow. "How would that translate into leagues?"

Harry was silent for a minute. "A league is the distance a horse can walk in an hour, correct? That's three miles, or just under five kilometres. So, we're traveling at twelve, maybe thirteen leagues per hour. Is that alright?" He gave a small smirk at seeing the surprise flash on the ambassador's face. "Arya, how far away is Du Weldenvarden from the Burning Plains?"

"That depends," she replied briskly. "The closest point would be about fifty leagues, and that would have us fly across the Empire. The destination I had in mind, Ceris, would be over a hundred."

"Does the speed affect plans?" Harry queried.

"Not severely. I thought we'd camp in the Hadarac for a day, but it seems unnecessary. We're far enough from the Empire that nobody can find us here. If we want, we can shift direction and head to Kirtan," she explained.

"If that's what you suggest, which way do we turn?" Seeing her unsure look, Harry pulled out his wand and lay it on his flat palm. "_Point Me, Kirtan,_" he intoned. The wand lay still. The failed attempt earned a chuckle from the elven ambassador as he furrowed his eyebrows, trying to figure out the problem.

His eyes lit up. "Maybe it's because we're looking for an elven city? You mentioned that there were enchantments...do you want to try it?" He handed Arya the wand. "Since you're an elf and you know the location personally, the enchantments might not matter, and the wand might respond to you," he theorized.

She gave a look of skepticism, but tried it anyway. "_Point Me, Kirtan,"_ she spoke. The wand immediately twirled, the end settling in a near ninety-degree turn to their current flight. She handed the wand back.

"_Point Me, North," _he spoke. The wand changed a degree or two. "We're just heading straight north, apparently."

After that last word, the duo flew near silently. They weren't _that_ close to each other, and they weren't going to pretend either. There was little to discuss but their deal.

Harry was left to his own musings. Invariably, his mind drifted to the conversation with Eragon. What did he think of him?

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_Flashback_

"_So," Harry asked, "how'd you get involved in all this."_

_His new acquaintance grimaced. "Saphira came to me…in a sort of freak accident. I was hunting in the Spine – that's a nearby forest said to be cursed – when the blue egg appeared out of nowhere. She made me miss the deer I'd been about to shoot too," he added. "I didn't know what she was at the time – damn near almost sold her – but I cared for her in secret when the egg hatched."_

_Eragon paused. "Soon after, the Ra'zac came looking for the egg. I warned her, and we flew off for the day. We came back the next day, but they destroyed the farm, and killed Garrow, my Father."_

"_I wanted revenge, still do. So Brom took me under his wing, taught me magic, sword fighting, everything he could. We traveled a lot, going from town to town, teaching me survival skills and customs."_

"_And then, in Dras-Leona, we met up with the Ra'zac again." Eragon swallowed, his mask faltering slightly. "They killed him. Arrows. I met a friend, Murtagh, in the aftermath, and everything started happening fast. We saved Arya from prison, and brought her to the Varden. An Urgal army followed us, and there was a huge battle in the tunnels when they tried to collapse Tronjheim – that's the Dwarven capital. We won, thankfully. I went to the elves after that, and came here to fight."_

_After Eragon's monologue, silence filled the space between them. While Harry was quite comfortable – to survive three years in near-isolation in a prison cell, one had to be – the former speaker grew restless._

"_What's your story?" He blurted it out. Harry raised an eyebrow._

_Eragon continued. "You weren't here before the battle, and then that weird lightshow happened outside your tent. Nobody would come here by accident, so…how'd you get here? Why?"_

_Harry opened his mouth slightly, then closed it again. What would he tell the other? What did he feel comfortable telling another? He sighed, and shifted his gaze downward._

_When he lifted it back up, Eragon was still waiting. He took a deep breath, and parted his lips to finally speak._

"_I'm not from here." Obviously. "And I appeared in quite a freak accident - like your dragon, I'd imagine."_

"_I was sentenced for execution after three years in a prison. I never did the acts, but people are short-sighted. Nothing changes about them, I suppose."_

"_Now, the method they used to execute me was the Veil. Nobody who falls through it ever returns. But it doesn't actually kill by default. The Veil…it basically knows everything, and acts accordingly. In my case, I was betrayed by almost everyone. One, maybe two people who knew me supported me. I assume it sent me here, as Arya," Eragon flinched, "basically described a doorway that fit the description."_

_Eragon wasn't sure how to respond to that. The entire time, Black had spoken with an indifferent tone. It was a tone of disdain and nonchalance. One part of it irked him, though._

"_What did they think you did?"_

_Emerald orbs met his own. "Let's see now. There was the destruction of property, arson, trespassing, and the theft of property when they were too lazy to clean the mess up…" he started. "And then there were the counts of first-degree murder."_

_._

_._

Harry had no idea what Eragon thought of him. _At least he hadn't left immediately after. _

Wait, why did he care? He had his dragon - who he made a mental note to name – and perhaps a few acquaintances when they reached Du Weldenvarden. He didn't _need_ friends. They were short-sighted, close-minded, and ignorant. They turned on you in an instant. That saying was true.

_Friendship is a ship big enough to carry two in fair weather, but only one in foul._

Not that London ever had great weather to begin with, he thought derisively.

His dragon stirred, and was looking at him with a grin on his face. Well, he assumed it was a grin. Dragons were a bit hard to read.

He decided to try out the trick Eragon had suggested. It was a bit like Legilimency, but much simpler. He'd almost say that there was a link, before the reminder that Eragon had assured him of the fact popped into his head.

'_do you understand me?' _Harry spoke through the link. He didn't get a reply in words, but emotions washed over him. Trust, happiness, content, and assurance.

How would he teach the dragon to speak in words? He wracked his mind for a moment, before the idea slapped him in the face. Of course.

If he could send words and emotions through the link, why not just send a mixture of memories and knowledge? If the idea failed, he was back to square one. But if it worked…he had a way to pass the time on this trip, at least. Besides, people always said that babies picked up language by being surrounded in it. Would this be any different?

So Harry began pulling memories out of his mind. There were English lessons, from before he'd gone to Hogwarts. There were the times he'd rifled through a dictionary, because everything else had been banned of him in the school library – courtesy of a phone call from the Dursleys. There were speeches he'd heard, memories of learning the language himself, and a packet of words he constructed on the spot.

The process was slow, as his dragon – he _really_ needed a name – only took things at a certain pace, but the rate was slowly increasing. He absently rubbed the scales on the top of his head, and a slight squeak escaped its mouth. Harry smiled.

He didn't really notice when the trees started coming up in their view, hours later. It was Arya who grabbed his attention with a yell.

The camp preparations and meal flew by him. Even with his Occlumency, he probably wouldn't be able to retrieve the memory and view it properly. Because they were in Du Weldenvarden, there was no need for them to take watches while the other slept.

Harry absently prepared for the night. He propped his dragon on his bed and was out like a light.

.

.

A/N: Yes, most readers (and myself) are American, but Harry Potter is British. For the record, my beta has told me that they're traveling at roughly 37.3 miles per hour. (Yes, I know that's not too fast, but compare it to a bulky dragon)

Oh, and thanks to everyone who offered what they thought about the "Review-in-chapter" dilemma that was posed to me. I've read the rules, and I only saw that I can't post an A/N as a chapter in its entirety. I believe I can continue to do this (and I like doing it this way). If not, I doubt FFN would cancel my story without a warning. And if it, shockingly, does do so, I have all the chapters saved on my computer and will know for next time.

Oh, and as for the dragon's name: I decided on it, but it bears relevance to the plot, so I won't say it yet.

Reviews: For the sake of limiting non-story word counts, I'm only going to answer questions asked in reviews, though I _do_ appreciate all comments. Don't misunderstand, please.

And sorry it took so long to get this chapter out, but school, clubs, and sleep deprivation all contributed to the delay.

Concealed-Convict: The interludes will play a role. For one, they'll explain the backstory to Harry's arrest and any deviations from canon. For a second thing…well, that's a surprise. Thank you for the critiques, though I generally apportion chapters by plot events, not word length. I can't guarantee any set size, though 3k is what I do normally right now.

Purple n' Blue Wings: I'll maintain an policy of ambiguity. I can't even picture how James or Lily would be in here, unless they made portraits?

Agent Scifi Maniac: That'd require Europe to be more advanced than Britain. Here, human nature is going to be portrayed as more homogenous.


	9. Chapter 7

_Sorry I've taken so long._

_Warning: Swearing. Other than that, nothing that the 'T' rating doesn't cover._

_Still undecided about potential pairing (if at all), but I've finally plotted out a course for this story. (That was the reason for the delay - I set the stage in extreme detail, but I thought I'd just create a plot on the spot. it doesn't work that way, though. Writer's block galore)_

_Note: This is still unedited. I haven't submitted it to my beta, Amethystnight88, who's been remarkably patient with me. So, please just read it for content. I'll address grammar later, since I wanted to just _get this out there_.  
_

_._

Chapter 7

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"Get up." He opened his eyes, only to meet an amethyst snout. A puff of smoke brushed against his face, making him jerk back. Harry groaned and rubbed his eyes, trying to soothe them.

A squeak sounded, and there was a weight leaning against his neck. His dragon. A hum of contentment rang through the wizard's frame, yet it didn't feel entirely like _his_ emotion. Though, it wasn't altogether alien either. Taking a glance at the majestic creature, Harry had to wonder. Was he…?

"We need to get moving," a lyrical voice informed him. "If we wish to reach Ellesmera by tonight, that is."

…Oh. Right. The memories came flashing back. The Veil, Angela, Orrin and Irwin, Arya, and Eragon. And his dragon, his familiar whose contentment he now felt as if it were his own. And the colors that had surrounded everyone…the predominately pink shadows. What had they been?

"Mr. Black, are you listening?" No. He blinked, losing his train of thought. After gazing dazedly at his elven escort, he nodded. Harry absently brushed dust and dirt off his clothes. Shakily standing up, got his bearings together.

"We can get there by tonight?" He asked in a surprised tone.

Arya nodded. "If we start soon."

_._

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_-Break-_

.

_._

Several days later

The duo and dragon traveled in a similar manner to the previous flight – that is to say, silently.

Harry stroked his familiar's scales as they walked, holding him in his arms. He'd wanted to keep the creature under the wards, but Arya had firmly ordered him not to. So he'd dropped the invisibility and secrecy wards. He hadn't been happy to, but he didn't want to offend his guide. Though he _had_ placed glamours on his ears and complexion. They were round, and his skin was a more healthy pallor than it would otherwise be. He may have had a creature inheritance, but he was still human.

And for now, he focused on the small bundle in his arms, with a purple snout occasionally prodding his arm. It bounced with his steps as he walked, cradling the dragon in his arms. It was almost the same position as a baby…he froze mid-step.

How long had it been? Not just since he thought of him, but since he'd _seen_ the last marauder-heir? Andromeda _better_ be taking care of him. He knew she'd been less than thrilled about Tonks marrying Remus, but still. He was her grandson. All grandmothers had to love their grandsons, right?

A throat cleared, dragging him back to the present. In a secluded forest with only an irritable elf for company. Arya was waiting for him to pick up his pace. She wouldn't leave him behind, he was sure. Riders were near-extinct, as he'd gathered from his few days at the Burning Plains. But she didn't particularly like him, and it suited Lord Potter-Black just fine. Most didn't, and he'd been generous with the few who did. And Andromeda, but that was for Teddy.

A rustle sounded far off in the woods, putting his elven companion on edge. Harry had to smile: she didn't seem like one to put her emotions on display, so he had to treasure her few vulnerabilities.

The rustle never quite abated. It grew louder, and closer, foot by foot. It didn't seem threatening, but Arya had a hand on her bow nonetheless, and looked ready to draw an arrow.

The rustling stopped. A small head poked out and stared straight at the bow. "Hello," the head voiced.

Arya lowered the bow.

A child stepped out, her head still gazing at the bow. Standing about four feet tall, the girl had a long mane of copper hair. She was dressed similarly to Arya, and looked thoroughly lost.

"#_Why's there a huuuman here?#"_ The girl queried, looking straight at Arya, who met her gaze. A smile curved around her delicate face.

"#_He will stay in Ellesmera for some time, childe#._" The elder responded. "#_May I ask your name?#"_

But the girl wasn't paying any attention. Her eyes were centered on the amethyst bundle in the human's arms. She moved further from the foliage, and took several steps towards the calm, human figure before he reacted.

Harry curled his arm further around the dragon – _his_ dragon – before reaching into his sleeve and pulling out a wand. Unfortunately, the girl seemed unfazed by the action.

"Stay. Back," he growled out, his eyes narrowing on the youth. The words were familiar ones to him, words that he'd echoed before…

_._

.

_Flashback_

_._

.

"_**Stay. Back**__." What were they doing? No, that was obvious – they were here to arrest him. The question was, more importantly, _why_?_

"_Potter, just let the aurors do their job and this can go very smoothly." That was Kingsley. He'd be removed as Minister in a week – for being too close to him. The boy that, once a savior, would go the same way as his godfather. _No, FOCUS!

_The two aurors were moving, closing in on him. Dawlish, he remembered idly – it was the same twit who'd arrested (or at least tried) Dumbledore and Hagrid in fifth year. He'd also thrown one of the stunners at McGonagall, his mind blithely supplied. The other looked newer – probably some Slytherin graduate who'd escaped the Dark Mark, but still knew how to look after his own hide. His robes were expensive enough to mark him as one, at least._

_But no, he would have none of that. Both of them were approaching him from the same direction, luckily._

"_Expulso!" the spell rocketed downward towards their feet, exploding the Diagon Alley cobblestone and lodging shrapnel into their legs. They fired stunners, of course, but he'd started moving immediately after firing his own spell. Did they think he was stupid?_

"_Petrificus Totalus!" What? Where'd that come fr…bloody hell!_

_He spun out of the way, the body-binding curse missing him by mere inches. And standing there, wand outstretched, was a billowing mop of red hair. That backstabbing prick! He couldn't retaliate, though, because the other two aurors were getting a hold of themselves._

"_Incendius!" "Oleum!" The fire and oil creation spells shot in front of the aurors, causing an immediate bonfire. The fiery column created a wall of sound, and he couldn't hear a thing from that end. There were screams and cries coming from the rest of Diagon Alley, though, and the goblins were rattling their sabers._

_He spun around. There was still one nuisance that wasn't in danger. _

"_Immobulus!" "Furnunculus!" "Mobiliarbus!" Dazed, the redhead didn't even realize that he was being brought not to Harry, but into the fire. "Impervius!" the last spell hit him before he plunged in to the sea of orange flames._

_It was the same color as the Weasley hair._

_He took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. In, out. Over and over. And eventually, he was able to tear his eyes away from the sight. What, where now? Apparating was impossible. A glance at the goblins at the bank gave him their answer; the sabers were still rattling. All the doors to the Diagon Alley shops had closed, as the streetgoers had fled into them. The Leaky Cauldron was undoubtedly closed. But the one just a little bit down, the one with the U-No-Poo sign on the window, looked like it was still open. And Harry made his decision._

_He sprinted down the cobblestone path and wrenched the door open. It couldn't refuse him – he was a part-owner. Completely ignoring the stunned visage of Lee Jordan, he made a beeline to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of floo powder._

"_Number Four Grimmauld Place," he murmured. The flash of green flames, so diametrically opposite the ones that had claimed the three figures earlier, surrounded and entrapped him. They spun and licked and _radiated_ heat, and he was spinning the opposite direction trying not to get sick or think about the events of minutes prior. And all too soon he was stumbling out of the fireplace, absently calling for Kreacher before he realized that the house-elf wasn't there anymore. He was dead, had been since just a week after the Final Battle. And Harry stopped wishing that the nuisance-turned-worshipper would show up, and settled down in the kitchen._

_He didn't think for the rest of the day, just showered and ate and sat in the library. And eventually, he decided to sleep, since then he might be able to put his mind back together. So he retired to Sirius's old bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, asleep before his face hit the pillow._

_Unknown to him, he'd be apprehended that night. All it would take the Ministry was Yaxley, who had sighted the house when they'd retrieved the locket from Umbridge the previous year, an auror willing to arrest him, and a bottle of Felix Felicis, confiscated from Slughorn's stores._

_._

.  
_End of Flashback_

.

.

"#_I don't think I like him very much#_," the childe murmured.

Arya observed the object of that statement. Black was stock-still. His eyes were lidded, and his mouth was twitching minutely with unspoken words that she couldn't decipher. He was in a defensive stance, one hand reaching into the other's sleeve. He'd been in that state for the past minute or so.

"Black!" He jolted, withdrawing his hand from his sleeve and pulling out a short, wooden stick with it. The other arm raised to rub his blinking eyes, and the man let out a soft groan.

"Yeah". It was uttered so softly, and not even as a question. His face turned to face her, and his visage started freezing in place, as if marble. He scarcely moved. "What?"

Raising an eyebrow, she cocked her head to the path. "We need to get going." Shifting to the childe at her feet, she bent down and asked, "#_Would you like to come with us? We're going to the town#_." There was no way that she would leave a child out here in the forest.

The girl stared back at Arya, big amber eyes scanning her own, before she looked at the outsider of the group. "#_Stay with me, please?#_"

Harry Black, newest Rider and accomplished wizard, grunted. This day was not fun. Actually, it was the antithesis of fun – a deluge of boring gruntwork.

First, the little elf eyes him warily, practically hiding behind Arya's skirt. (Metaphorically, only – he couldn't imagine his escort in one) She'd pace just a little bit faster than Arya, and would stare at him for a number of seconds. Or a minute. However long it took for him to notice and glance back. Then, she'd freeze and fall back into line with the elder elf who held the child's hand for the entire journey thus far.

And those amber eyes reminded him too much of what he had lost. They stared so fleetingly, like she was afraid of him as _they_ had been afraid of Moony.

"Can you please not do that?" He groused. Her shoulders shuddered before she leaned forward to stare at him once more. His eyes met hers. Well, at least they weren't flicking up to check for _that_ faded mark.

The little girl gulped, before mumbling something under her breath. He'd heard her, but he didn't understand her. _What was she saying_? What language? He'd only met Arya, as far as elves went, and she'd spoken in clear English. Sure, it was accented, but so was _everyone's_ voice.

Now that he looked back on it, it seemed strange. Why _would_ she speak English? Of course, she was an ambassador, so she'd need to know several languages…so perhaps the humans, whom he'd also spoken to, used it? What, then, did elves use?

Harry lifted his eyes from the girl to her hand-holder, and Arya met them. She said nothing, just inclined her head to the girl. Grumbling, he deigned to pose a question to his escort.

"What's her name?" He wondered aloud. Arya answered for him.

"Eryth"

He paused. "Eryth, would you like to come here?" He indicated his side as she peeked out from behind her hand-holder. The girl gave him a blank look and looked up to Arya, mumbling new words. Unsurprisingly, Arya answered in similar sounds. What language _was_ this?

And then there was a prod at his waist. Eryth was looking up at him, amber eyes wide with wonder, finger just inches away from poking him again. With her brown hair swaying behind her, she looked just precious. And Harry cracked a small smirk before grasping a miniscule, delicate hand. The squeeze on his fingers reciprocated in magnitude.

The newly-formed trio continued to walk in near-silence.

.

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_-Break-_

_._

.

By the late evening, the elf, elfling, and rider had managed to reach Ellesmera. The trio had supped, and Eryth had sat closer to him during the meal. What had been with her? She'd insisted on holding his hand even after, and now a city was in coming into view. _Ellesmera_.

All that blocked Harry & Arya from the city was a single elf. He looked far older than Arya, and seemed perpetually bathed in a light. A circlet that had an uncanny resemblance to Ravenclaw's diadem – or what he remembered of it, at any rate – was adorned on his brow. And, to Harry's idle observation, his wrinkles rivaled that of Dumbledore.

The moment he was within sight, Arya began to stiffen considerably. Her brow lowered slightly, and she looked like she was sucking her emotions in – or, what little she demonstrated in the first place. Her posture, ever proper, grew to an aristocratic stature. Though he didn't dare look down, in case he gave the wrong impression to the elf, Harry suspected that her hands were fisting. She began glancing from side to side, and he had to wonder why his escort was acting so strangely _now_.

"Arya?" She turned her head at such a speed that Harry wondered of whip-lash. Her eyes focused on his, and there was an intensity to it.

He lifted an eyebrow, hoping it came across skeptically. "Are you all right?" He felt a squeeze on his hand; Eryth was glancing up at him, probably wondering what he had said.

He hadn't heard the child say anything comprehensible. And, he suspected, neither had she of him.

"Be as respectful as you can, Mr. Black." The words struck as strange note with him. Why was she being so insistent _now_?

"Not that I wouldn't try to normally, with strangers. Yet…oh, never mind." They were almost up to the strange elf, who stood solitary and mute.

"Mr. Black, show him your hand."

He turned fully to face her. "Why?" He lifted it up and held it up, so that the silvery oval faced her. "What's so important about this?"

She didn't reply. Merely, she grasped his hand – he almost flinched at the contact, and was certain that Arya, the elf, and possibly Eryth had detected movement – and wrenched it toward the elf before them.

And held it.

The elf smiled and closed his eyes. With that, the trio continued along the path into the city.

It was only then that Arya let go. And provided an opportune moment for Harry to blow up.

"Why did you do that? Who was that elf? And again, _what's so important about _this?" He flung his hand towards her, just stopping directly in her line of vision. "I don't mind that our relationship isn't the warmest one, but I'm stepping into what's clearly your territory. _What, may I ask, are you not telling me that I should know?"_

Even as he wound down, Harry felt tired. And hurt. Fighting wasn't fun. It wasn't even worth it, most of the time. He was in a strange place, with an array of subconscious fears that accompany new surroundings, and his one link to any sense of normalcy that he could _ever_ have was being tight-lipped. And yet, she ignored his outburst.

His eyes glanced down to the child that still held his hand. He had to wonder which way it was working at the moment. "You still like me, don't you Eryth?" Her eyes pricked up at the name, and she gripped his hand comfortingly. At least, _he_ thought so. For all he knew, this could be a polyjuice or a glamour type of appearance, but there were only so many worries that he could process at a time.

And there were certainly many new fears entering his conscious thoughts. When the paths narrowed and the roads became more populated, with structures surrounding them, some of the inhabitants were casting looks at the trio. Many glances went to the bundle that he cradled in one arm, who was poking his nose into open space just slightly. Numerous glances also went to his ears, which he'd kept under glamour since the trek began.

He realized that his ears were pointed, like an elf. He knew on an intellectual level. But there was no way that he would admit to it until he was comfortable with it himself.

Still others were drawn to Eryth. Harry looked around, and something odd came to him. Without Eryth, he wouldn't have noticed, but there were barely any children like her in sight. Why?

And still a few glances took in Arya's visage. Perhaps it was her position as Ambassador, he concluded. At any rate, he was more concerned with the souls that were approaching them.

One of them uttered several sounds. And the another, with slightly different sounds. And still others, with new sounds and phrases. And while none _obstructed_ their path, Harry noticed that they were beginning to attract a crowd. The eyes were like arrows targeting the bundle in his arms, and the dragon chose that moment to squeak.

It felt like the world was falling away.

All he could see was more faces, more pointed ears, and hear more words, growing louder and louder. His breathing was growing shallow, and he didn't even realize it until a tug from Eryth drew him out of his reverie.

Arya was pulling up ahead, and Eryth was trying to drag him along at her pace. He sighed and relented, following her through the winding streets that he couldn't make sense of. He still lost her – quite easily, at that. But Eryth kept tugging him along, in routes that made him feel like he'd seen the same sights and elves three times over.

After ten minutes of _extremely_ trying chants and crowds, they reached an odd-looking staircase.

_They weren't cement, or tiles, or anything else recognizable_. Wait, he knew what they were. Roots. Like those of a _tree_.

Eryth was already on the second step, poised on the third, and tugging his arm. He went along. Passing a door that looked like saplings, they came to a hall surrounded by trees.

Actually, _everything_ had had a nature feel to it. Perhaps he had been too distracted to notice.

There was a long table ahead, with over a dozen empty chairs on each side. At the head stood a massive throne, upon which a woman was perched. She wore a crimson tunic, and she exuded elegance. Her eyebrows slanted up, projecting pride. She could have been the Queen of France, with her stature even while seated.

Arya was kneeling before him, head bowed. Clearly, she had been here for a short time already. And at once, she began standing up and straightening herself. She turned in between the woman and he, and spoke in the most formal tone he had ever heard in his life – including his arrest and trial.

"Presenting Mr. Harry Black, my Queen."

A white dove flew in at the words, in a silent mockery of the formality. _No,_ he thought, _it's not a dove. It looks like…a _raven. But aren't ravens black?

"_Wyrda!"_ The white raven _fucking_ talked! He didn't know what it had said, but it _fucking_ spoke in the same sounds as the other elves! What was this?

Distantly, a voice in his childhood school-years whispered "anthropomorphism", but he had to suppress a snort. What good was that, now?

It circled, before perching on the throne.

.

.

"What brings this man here, my daughter?" The Queen spoke.

_Daughter_._ Arya is royalty?_

"Mr. Black is a Rider, Mother." _Apparently, yes_.

Arya approached him and reached for his free hand – _when had Eryth let go?_ – when he wrenched it away.

"I'll ask again, Arya. _What_ is so important about this?" The response, which was inevitable now with the Queen glancing in askance at her errant daughter, was less than reassuring.

He'd understood that Riders were rare, but he had not been informed that they could be counted on one hand. He didn't want to fight. He'd had enough of it. Sometimes, it was necessary. Like with Voldemort, who had marked him down for murder before he'd even been born. And independence _was_ a so-called "human right", as he remembered it in the Muggle world.

But why did being a Rider automatically make him the frontline in a war he had no interest in?

Harry glanced down to the amethyst dragon in his arm. Because of him, he would be expected to fight in a war...yet he couldn't blame his familiar. He still loved the dragon, but he didn't want to fight because of him. Him. For some reason, the dragon seemed male in his eyes.

He hadn't given his familiar a name, he realized. But he knew it was male, and he, Harry Black, had to name him. Black. A star, maybe?

Oblivious to the two royal elves and the elfling by his side, he silently wondered. What kind of name? Astor? It didn't give him a good feeling. Plus, it had no meaning beyond "star". Praecipula? It was in Leo minor, which had Regulus. And it meant 'principal star'. But he still had a bad feeling about it.

He really wanted a meaning, more than anything. And the only thing he could think of at the moment was war.

"_Antares_" A warm feeling filled him. His familiar was Antares. Whatever happened, he'd still have his familiar, Antares.

A screech sprinted through the hallway, causing a splitting pain in his skull. It was coming from the satirical raven. But it was more than noise, they were sounds.

He had as much luck understanding them as he'd had with the other elves.

And at last, it stopped. "_Wyrda!"_ the blased bird shouted.

When he opened his eyes again, he found two royal pairs of eyes trained on him. Neither gave anything away.

"What," he asked, "did it say? And what is it?"

"Blagden is a treasured part of Du Weldenvarden. He once saved the King, and in return was gifted with immortality, though it turned his feathers white. He predicts the future." Queen Islanzadi had chosen to answer, bypassing her daughter.

He lifted a single brow. "What did Blagden say?"

"I warn you, he always speaks in Riddles. However, he said the following:

_Only Cold and Memories await_

_As Dog, and Deer,_

_Will the Wolf Follow_

I believe he may be speaking in relation to you, but one cannot be certain."

_..._

But Harry was growing pale all the same. _No, it couldn't be. It can't happen. It CAN'T!...he's suffered enough. He shouldn't have to, he's too precious…_

As he visibly worsened, the Queen commanded her daughter to perform a simple task. "Settle him in his lodgings. The residence next to Eragon's should suffice. We will reconvene in the morning."

But Blagden launched off the throne, dropping a single feather on his flight out. _"Wyrda!"_ He proclaimed.

...

_End of Chapter_

_...Sorry it's taken me...four months to update this. I could list excuses, but I doubt anyone would care for them. So, I'll just move onto the reviews response, with the same guidelines as usual._

_Hideout Writer: It was just the direction I decided to take._

_Purple N Blue Wings: Creative license/plot hole. I just needed the journey to take a certain timeframe._

_TenchiSaWada: You're free to move to new stories. However, I'm encouraged by the fact that you still read through and reviewed multiple chapters._

_Oxnate: I'll address the magic-issue more in the next chapter. (He'll meet Oromis)_

_Ethorin: Not completely sure what you mean by Harry-bashing, but it could happen. The only question is creative license, i think._

_zetca: don't worry. I'm just American, so I'm familiar with miles._

_urfan: You're free to move to other stories if you don't like NWNH._

_UniqueTeen: that would be telling! I can't do that :)_

_jmsdragn: Sorry. I haven't found a good way to insert scene breaks. Do you know one?_

_For anyone else: Thank you for reviewing. I've just wanted to keep the word count low (thanks to feedback I've consistently received) within chapters, since I've previously spent up to 700 words in reviews alone. I have read your comments - multiple times. And I'm taking them to heart and into consideration._


	10. Chapter 8

_I realized that I haven't put up the disclaimer/warnings in a while. So, here it is:_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but the parts that are neither in HP nor the Inheritance Cycle. I trust you to figure out what those things are, if you legitimately believe in lawsuits for fanfiction._

_Warnings: Emotional development, fighting/violence, etc. Nothing to garner an M rating._

...

...

Chapter 8

After many hours, there came a time when roosters began cawing their greetings to the sun, and as beacons, their cries signaled the start of a new day for all the inhabitants who could hear them. Ellesmera was never quite a ghost town at night. There was always a number of elves engaged in their own affairs, and servants maintained a minimal level of activity in the palace.

Apart from the sentient beings, there was always nature. Owls would perch on branches – all the homes were trees, anyway – and hoot to each other and to strangers. The sound of running streams never abated, and low rustle of the wind picked up and died intermittently.

But with the roosters' caws greeting the sunrise, the lush forest of Du Weldenvarden – and the haven within it, Ellesmera – arose from its brief slumber.

Fires were lit to provide heat in the brisk air. Though a man would notice the lack of smoking meat, bread was baking in all the bakeries on the block. Families rose, one member followed by another, in an intricate dance of preparation for the beckoning day.

As children sat down to munch on their morning meal, the merchants were already preparing their storefronts and stands. The aspiring warriors drifted onto the practice fields to duel. The animals darted through dense foliage and lightly-covered clearings.

The bustle of Ellesmera caused a rise in the noise level of the town proper, but it never made a large stir. Some still slept on, exhausted from previous days' events, trials, and foreboding tests.

One of them, a dark-haired man with jade eyes, woke peacefully for the first time in days.

At first, he held to the notion that he was still dreaming. He was warm, the air was quiet around him, and there was a distinct lack of elves nudging him awake. Plus, a nice, warm breeze ran against his upturned cheek and closed eyes, and he wanted to sink further into the soft mattress beneath him.

It was thus bad luck that his muscles were tensing. Even if his mind wanted to drift in oblivion for a while longer, his body was beginning to protest after years of abuse. So, he groaned and shifted his weight around the bed, but couldn't relax. So Harry Black began his morning.

He considered casting a tempus charm, but decided that he didn't _want_ to know the time. Rather, his new surroundings were more interesting.

He vaguely remembered that Arya had led him to this residence, and he ascended a large flight of stairs, but the rest of the evening eluded him. He was sure that she'd mentioned something about the home – even Arya wouldn't just drop him off in a random house – but he couldn't remember.

What he saw when he emerged from his memories surprised him. The entire house was wooden – from the floors to the walls to the ceiling. Even the doorways were surrounded by wood, and it didn't look like wood _paneling_ either. It was as if he were in a tree house of some sort – a structure made _entirely_ out of wood.

There were two doorways that he could see from his bed. One looked like it led to a large, empty area – he'd look at that later. The other appeared to be a bathroom, with a wooden _sink_. A mirror rested above it, and that was all he could make out from his position on a bed.

Harry got up and shuffled over to the sink. Green eyes peered into the reflective glass and contemplated the figure that stood before it.

Obsidian hair fell loosely, resting somewhere between his chin and his shoulders. It contrasted his pale pallor. Once, he'd been content with his slightly tan face, but he supposed that given the past three years, it would naturally have paled. Sirius, he blithely remembered, had been an almost ghostly-white color at the end of third year, and he had been _out_ of Azkaban for almost 10 months. The pale color probably shouldn't bother him, Harry concluded.

Small tufts of black hair were sprouting around his jawline, between his mouth and nose, and developing sideburns by his ears. He'd have to get rid of it.

Yet, he'd never seen his face quite so…_angular_. He might have thought it was simply gaunt, but his face had somehow filled out a bit. Gone was any baby fat he possibly had. In its place…he looked _striking_. It was almost like the aristocratic features that royalty was espoused as possessing.

And his eyes – he leaned closer into the mirror, and noted the thin rings of gray and purple tucked in around his pupils. He expected the gray – it was part of being a Black. Every prominent magical family had certain physical traits that distinguished them, even those who didn't share blood. He had the trademark "Potter hair", impossible to tame. Mrs. Weasley had had red hair and freckles, and Narcissa had gained blond hair when she married into the Malfoy family.

He expected the gray. His hair had also gotten _slightly_ less unruly, and darkened ever slightly by becoming Lord Black. He'd gained a couple inches when he straightened his posture later on, too.

The pallor and the angular features of his face were manageable as well. But what did the purple ring mean? What was – oh. He felt like smacking his head in shame. His dragon. Where was the little creature? Antares. The man turned back into the bedroom and scanned it mentally. There – on the nightstand by the bed. He was curled up into a circle, his head resting on the end of his tail. Pricks of sharp white snuck out of the dragon's muzzle, but soft purrs were heard from Antares's mouth. It was a cute sight, and Harry had to crack a tiny smile. It was peaceful.

It wouldn't be like that forever, but he could savor it now and then, couldn't he?

…

...

An hour passed, in which time Harry had fed himself from the trunk's kitchen compartment, roused Antares awake, fetched raw meat for his familiar, went through his morning ablutions, and changed his clothes. As soon as he stopped fidgeting with his hair, he'd be – in his opinion, at least – presentable.

The Black Lord had noticed a few things that morning. When he retrieved eggs, toast, and jam for a meal from his kitchen compartment's fridge, there were other empty spaces in the fridge. Empty spaces where he'd taken food for previous meals. The appliance didn't magically refill.

On second thought, there was no reason for Harry to _expect_ it to refill. He had never paid much attention to things like _fridges_ in the wizarding world, and he'd stopped cooking for the Dursleys after his first year at Hogwarts. He had never seen a wizarding _grocery store_, but almost everywhere he'd been served food – Hogwarts, Grimmauld, The Leaky Cauldron, The Three Broomsticks – had house elves to take care of the kitchen. He'd never wondered where the Weasleys got food.

This meant that he couldn't rely on his trunk forever. Even the potions lab compartment, now that he thought of it, only had ingredients that he'd already possessed. Again it meant that he couldn't rely on his trunk forever.

Yet, there was little time to dwell on it. Antares was butting his snout against his arm and nuzzling it. The sun was streaming through the room, and a tempus charm informed him that it was 9 o'clock. The Black Lord – because he wasn't going to use his Potter surname for now – had no idea when it was normal for the elves to begin their day. They weren't like muggle businesses: 8-4 workdays didn't seem to fit with a race so connected to nature.

Regardless, he might as well find out. Harry descended the countless steps of his _wooden_ staircase.

…

...

No sooner had he descended than a voice spoke, _"#You're awake?#"_ Harry turned to the sound and found a male elf standing uprightly. It reminded him of the royal guards who stood around Buckingham Palace, the ones who didn't move, flinch, or speak. Though his words had been unintelligible.

Lord Black quirked an eyebrow. "What did you say?"

The guard let go of his composure, and his cerulean eyes lit up, as if remembering or realizing something. Then, he spoke: "You're awake. No one was certain when you would wake. If you are prepared, I must escort you to the base of the tree." A moment of silence, before eyes lit up again. "Have you eaten?"

…

...

"Once one speaks in the Ancient language, he cannot break his word. Lies cannot be told, and promises cannot be broken. Vows are guaranteed."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "In other words, you could have someone state something that would destroy them." Blinking, he settled a gaze on the Queen. "What are you asking me to say, and why should I say it?"

"It is a vow not to divulge the secrets of what you see here, and will see in our land."

_It sounds reasonable_. "How do I know that _is_ what I'm saying?" He avoided the gaze of the insulted monarch. "Even if you…assure me that you are truthful in the Ancient Language…I have no knowledge of it, and I cannot verify your words. Either way, I rely on faith."

His body deflated, shrinking back on himself. Even if he _wasn't_ expected to be a masterful diplomat, he'd baldly insulted a queen. His eyes turned downward, focusing on the ground beside him.

Islanzadi's voice prevented a void of silence from pervading.

"I see that we have been perhaps, too hopeful. We expected that you would be on a comparable level to Eragon, when he joined us, in your knowledge and training. Your concern is reasonable; one cannot use one mystery to explicate another. Yet, your teacher cannot safely meet you without the oath."

…

...

Between him and the queen, he'd given in.

Following Oromis tepidly, Harry felt lost. The old elf certainly wasn't talkative at the moment. He seemed to be deep in concentration, but the newcomer couldn't understand about what. Yes, he had appeared in Ellesmera with little warning, besides Arya, but, what was on this being's mind?

For once, Harry was reminded of Legilimency. Even if he'd never learned the art, he could understand the appeal. Especially if the victim was unaware.

_No. Bad train of thought. Stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thinking. Should not be considering something so invasive and inhumane. Remember Snape._ The temptation to smack himself popped into his brain, but Harry didn't want to give the impression that he was deranged. Even if everyone back in Britain thought so – _insane Lord Potter-Black…Azkaban was for his own good…out of sight, out of mind…._ – he had to go on. Why he had to go on, Harry wasn't sure. Surely a reason would make itself apparent?

"Harry Black." The old elf spoke. "Welcome to my home, the Crags of Tel'naeir" he said.

They were in a clearing situated on the edge of the cliff, just before the wall of exposed stone crumbled back into the earth. A bare path led from the precipice to the doorstep of a low hut – _Hagrid_ - grown between the trunks of four trees, one of which straddled a stream that emerged from the moody depths of the forest. (1) When compared to the massive golden dragon, the entire structure seemed like a toy. It was perhaps twice Harry's height, but only a fraction of the dragon's.

"I am Oromis, _Osthato Chetowa_, The Mourning Sage, and _Togiro Ikonoka_, The Cripple Who Is Whole. Please wait here for a moment." Without further prompting the elf left him in the clearing, and stepped inside the hut. One minute later, Oromis returned with two stools and two…_bottles_…of water.

Setting the stools down, the elf handed him a bottle. Man and elf sat down, side by side, gazing into the clearing and the brush beyond it. Harry shifted Antares to his lap, waiting for the elf to speak.

And waited. (2)

Five minutes went by. Then ten.

Still, no sounds escaped the elf, save for sips of water and a slow, even breathing.

Harry turned downward, and brought his free hand – the one unoccupied with water – to Antares's scales. Soft puffs of heated air emitted out of his nostrils as Harry stroked his scales, rubbed his head, and lightly scratched at his neck.

It seemed like the dragon had grown overnight. The previous day, he would have fitted in the palm of one hand. Now, he really had to use the length of his arm to cradle the dragon against his breast.

A sip of water. Thirty minutes. Forty.

What was Oromis doing? He didn't mind waiting – a small part of him _wanted_ to delay whatever trials the old elf would put him through. Socializing had ceased to be an enjoyable activity for Harry. Even back in the elevator with Neville…what was the point? Actions spoke louder than words. Words could only subvert an action, or raise the specter of a potential one. Or direct suspicion to an unclaimed action to a scapegoat.

_Dean. Seamus. Lavender._

Fifty minutes. Leaves on tree branches rustled with a sudden breeze.

Harry continued to idly pet Antares, who drifted between sleep and wakefulness, feelings of comfort and warmth passing through his mind into his Rider's.

"It seems you have learned the value of patience." One hour.

Lord Black raised a brow, turning to his fellow nature-watcher. "Not valued, but essential. Impatience is just disapproved of, and a sign of immaturity."

Oromis let out a chuckle. "Those words are true enough. Now, let me see your hands." Answering Black's confused expression, "I find that they tell me much about a person." (2)

_Really, what is there to do?_ Harry held his hands out, palms up, letting Oromis peruse at his leisure. _Like palm-reading with Trelawney._

He examined Harry's hands, then said, "Correct me if I am wrong. You have wielded a sword on occasion."

"Technically."

"You're accustomed to writing, and you do it regularly."

"I used to."

"Mmm. You have scars on your hands, but there are few of them. You have taken risks in your life."

"True."

"And…what is this?" Oromis turned his left hand over, and was staring at a scar on the back of his hand. Deeply embedded into the skin, the marks had faded from the ruby red they used to be.

Though off-colored skin glared at him with five words. _I must not tell lies_

"It seems purposeful, but I do not recognize it." Flinch. "What is the significance?"

Pulling his arm back with a ferocity he couldn't remember using, Harry snarled. "It's personal." His face settled into a mockery of a smile. Lips were pursed together and they turned upward to form dimples, but the expression could have doubled for one of sickness.

…

...

After the air was cleared between the two Riders, Oromis began to test his magical ability.

"Here is a stone. I would like you to make it rise into the air."

_Is he serious?_ Drawing his wand – he couldn't remember which one – he gave a swish and flick. "_Wingardium Leviosa"_ And the gray, fist-sized stone rose to eye-level for Harry.

Cancelling the spell, he let it drop onto the ground with a plop. Then, he was asked questions.

"What is that tool that you hold?"

Harry rose a brow. "It's a wand."

"What do you use it for?"

A shrug. "Everyone, where I come from, uses a wand to perform magic."

"Is it a requirement?"

"For most, it is."

Oromis's brow furrowed. "What would you do should it be lost in battle?"

Another shrug. "I can do magic without it. I could continue on, or just summon it back to my hand."

A pause ensued. "If you do not need it, why do you use this 'wand'?"

Harry Black pursed his lips with a grimace. "It's easier, and it's familiar." A lapse of silence.

"I noticed that you carry a sword with you. Technically, you could use any sword you wanted with adequate skill, but naturally you'll stay with the one you have. The same applies to me. I could do without a wand, but it wouldn't be the same," the Black Lord drew himself up to his fullest stature.

Yet, the elf seemed preoccupied by the wand. His hands clasped behind his back and his face tilted downwards. When he returned to normal, his words were cautionary ones. "It would not do for a tool to become a crutch."

He faced Black directly. "For the remainder of these tests, at the very least, you are not permitted to use your tool. Now, let's resume."

_This isn't that hard_. The tasks Oromis set before the Black Lord were relatively simple ones, even without his wand. He lifted a ball of water from a nearby stream. He set a small collection of twigs on fire. He put an animal to sleep. He created a ball of light, and he launched a wooden stick into the air. He manipulated many objects into moving. He did many other knick-knacks and minor things.

And that's exactly what they were: _minor_. Sure, he was quizzed on many plants, which he had no idea of. They weren't the flora he'd studied in Herbology. He was asked many questions of history, but he didn't know Alagaesia's history, and could only decline the questions. In fact, his grasp on history was paltry. He knew many aspects of ancient civilizations, like the Egyptians, the Romans, the Greeks, and others. They were important to magic. He knew some muggle British history, but it wasn't anything beyond primary school level. He knew much about the World Wars – they had been key elements in researching Grindelwald and Dumbledore's pasts, while on the hunt for Horcruxes. He was familiar with the extent of the British Empire, and how many pieces had come to be autonomous, like Australia, Canada, and India.

Strangely, he knew much about American history – what little there was – because Dudley had a tendency to dump his textbooks in Harry's room when the school year ended, and, as a teacher had once said (though he couldn't remember who), nothing interested boys more than war. Something the Americans were intimately familiar with, between the Independence War, the War of 1812 (which Britain had won), and their Civil War, and in the 20th century, the Americans had been a heavyweight in the World Wars and Cold War. His primary school teachers had been ecstatic about it in the few years before Hogwarts, Harry remembered. _Hadn't it ended around that time?_

Putting his musing aside, Harry knew little about metal-making, woodworking, medicine, or of the Elven language – which Oromis was insistent on asking about. Harry had been incanting his spells aloud, but the elf had been flabbergasted each time, so he'd opted to go silent.

Yet, between the inane questions and the _too_ simple magic, Harry had felt out-of-place.

When Oromis announced that he was satisfied with his skill level in magic, Harry had to swallow the "_that's all?_" that his mind had wondered of.

"What did you expect, Harry Black?" _Perhaps it wasn't just a thought_.

"You demanded so little of this test, I thought you were joking."

Oromis paused, deep in thought. _What does he already know?_ "You believe you know all there is? Fine, _release yourself."_ He uttered several words in gibberish.

Invisible hands of steel wrapped around his ankles, shins, and calves, stretching up to his waist and forming an iron cast.

There was no way Harry would be able to physically overcome it, even on his best days. He tried, and eyes widened in alarm when the signals his brain sent weren't materialized in movement.

He reached for his wand, forgetting that it had already been forbidden. Pointing it at his lower body, Harry yelled, "_Finite Incantatem!"_

The force departed instantaneously, and Harry, who'd still been in alarm over trying to move, tripped over his own feet, landing on the ground in a disheveled heap.

"What the FUCK was that!" He looked the picture of a fallen Lord now, struggling to get onto his knees, hands grasping at the earth and searching for a place to push from, to rise. His chest heaved and his mouth huffed repeatedly. His limbs shook at the suddenness of his fall and his immediate attempt to get back up.

Struggling to his feet, a full-body shiver overtook the Lord, and his entire frame vibrated violently. He swung his head to the old elf, and yelled again, "What the _fuck_ was that!"

But the elf was too busy observing him, as if he was an alien that had fallen from the sky. Or he had two heads.

"What!" His hand shot out in a gesture towards the elf, beckoning a response. Harry looked at his outstretched limb and paused. Perhaps that was it.

Light sheens of blue and black covered his forearm and his skin clung closely to the sinew, blood, and bone of his hand. Veins seemed to not only be prominent, but _stick out_ from the skin.

The skin lacked color, where it was unmarred by injury. It looked gray and almost transparent.

His face remained the same, but the skin was more tightly drawn around the bones and cartilage shaping it. It was the image of a gaunt man.

_His glamours had been removed by the spell._

"How did you come to assume two different appearances, Harry Black?"

...

...

"Excuse me, how much for this bread, sir?"

The street market in Ellesmera was busy in the hour before the evening meal, as elves of all ages and genders weaved through the vendors, racking up laundry lists of fruits, vegetables, and grains. When he'd seen the throngs, the immediate comparison was to Diagon Alley, or Hogsmeade. But the locations were too distinct.

Wizarding centers were focal points for a sort of orderly chaos. Though there was no rhyme or reason to witches and wizards rushing, pacing, or bustling every which way, it wasn't a broom crash either. Merlin himself couldn't have conducted the movements of Diagon Alley.

Yet, Ellesmera's…_market street_, he'd call it, was the epitome of what elves seemed to be. Graceful. Each elf was independent, but they tread so carefully around each other, and there were many unspoken rules that hung in the air…

Though he didn't fit in. So he'd moved towards the closest stall and waited for the vendor to become free. And asked of the price for a loaf of bread.

Besides the obvious, Harry wasn't sure why the vendor was staring at him, though.

"_The New Rider. I hadn't thought it was serious,"_ the vendor bore into his eyes, emphatically intoning the phrase in English.

New Rider, he wondered. "Sir, how much should I pay you for a loaf of bread here?" Harry gestured to an innocent plate on the stall.

Suddenly, it was right up to his chest level. "_For you, New Rider, it is free. Take it as a gift."_

No. He couldn't. "Please, allow me to pay you. One moment," he pulled out his trunk and enlarged it to the size of a pouch, "I'll get a galleon out for you." Harry didn't notice the expression on the elf, which was just as well. It was rather blank to his eyes. "Aha! Here you go." Holding the gold coin out, the Rider waited for the elf to reach out and grasp it.

"Very well, I accept your offer." The trade was done. Now if only he could make his way back to wherever he'd been staying last night.

When he navigated through the crowded street – the stalls took up half the width of the already narrow road – there was a small group of little elves caught up in their own activities.

One of them noticed his presence, and darted toward him.

"_Who are you?"_

Harry looked down at the being before him. That was a child's size, but not a kid's tone. It was almost adult.

"My name is Harry."

The little elf looked up at him, and several of the other kid-sized elves made their way towards the duo.

"_Are you the New Rider?"_

"Er…a vendor called me a bit earlier. I suppose."

"_Why do you not speak the Ancient Language?"_

The Rider had to pause. _What_ language? "I've no idea what you're talking about."

"_Can't you do magic?"_

A raised eyebrow. "Of course I can do magic. _Sphaera colere!"_

Glistening bubbles of bright colors materialized in the air, swirling around the clearing. Each caught the light at every angle, and the bubbles gleamed. They flew through the air for ten seconds before simultaneously popping.

"_Cool! Will you help us?"_

"Help with what?"

"_You'll fight against Galbatorix for us, won't you?"_

_..._

_**Chapter End**_

_..._

_(1) p.270 in Eldest_

_(2) Real actions & dialogue in Eldest, adapted to this story - twice cited in story_

_..._

_..._

_Reviews: Thank you for them. They've helped spur me to continue this_

AnnAisu: Eragon will play a role, but he'll need to return to Ellesmera first. I haven't read Brisingr, but he promised to rescue Katrina & kill the Ra'zac to Roran at the end of _Eldest_. He awaits in the future.

PriyanshPotter: It took Saphira weeks before she could speak to Eragon, and Eragon had to teach her words constantly. And I won't introduce characters unless I feel like there's a legitimate argument to be made for their existence. Language spells…don't exist in HP canon, and I feel like it's a cop-out. Part of the difficulty will be adjusting to elves' language, customs, and idioms. For elven relations…that will be a theme.

xTcShade: There are no "super" characters in this story. QE2 is no exception, unfortunately.

Edana1009: I don't anticipate creating pairings. And I recognize that Harry needs a lot of character development. Saying he's in Azkaban just doesn't cut it, and it'll be a focus of the story. (There's a lot of hints in Ch8 if you look for them)

Lizziliane: Old monarchies. I'm well aware of European governmental systems. (The only royalty on Earth that plays a role in NWNH is Elizabeth II)

Tango Dancer: I love Blagden's riddle. So many interpretations…

Animegirl1994: She will play a role, I just haven't finalized it yet. Stay tuned.

RinYun913: Not spoiling this one. I prize my riddle's ambiguity too much.

Ranawe217: You're making premature assumptions, and all of which are false. Read beyond the first chapter if you want to actually understand the direction I'm taking.

Frytrix: I'm trying, but your comments encourage me to focus more on those points. Thanks.

Ryder Bellamiren: I would answer your questions, but they are central to the story's themes. Arya's conduct is foreshadowing a larger theme of assimilation/trust, though.

Yukirin-Sama: He will not return to Earth.

...

_Author's Note: I'm going to be incredibly busy for the rest of summer, and probably September. I'm not declaring a hiatus, but I won't promise a new chapter within a short timeframe. Sorry, but I have AP summer work & college essays._

_Also: I'm keeping periodic updates on the status of NWNH's development on my profile page, if you want to see how far along I am towards the next chapter. I update it with every major development, when I stop/start writing, beta'ing, etc. It doesn't substitute the chapter itself, but at least you can check how the story's coming around without waiting for alerts, new chapters, etc._


	11. Chapter 9

_A/N: I'm sorry that I posted two days beyond my intended deadline. School projects caught up to me. Please read A/N at bottom for a genuine note._

_Also: I read _Brisingr_, and I have _Inheritance_ waiting on my desk. I plan to incorporate a couple ideas from Brisingr, but not too extensively. Feel free to sound off your opinions in a review, though. Nothing is completely set in stone._

**Chapter 9**

"I…" the word hung in the clearing's open air. Well, _now_ he was in danger of digging himself into a ditch. To fight was not the reason for why he'd come here. Why he'd agreed to learn under another Rider. Why he'd given Arya the benefit of the doubt, because Merlin knew he was wary of just about everything. The simple isolation in his old cell, surrounded by the chilling cold of dementors and the slow, hollow _emptiness_ that had spread along his chest, had easily instilled a mood of extreme caution into everything in his life.

Harry tried to speak, he opened his mouth and inhaled and struggled to make his voice box work, but his stomach would churn violently and his diaphragm relaxed, rising in his chest and forcing all the air out of his lungs.

Although his lips tried to shape the words, he couldn't get the air in his lungs to stay put before it rushed out, as if it were sentient and could sense his inner turmoil.

Those children were still staring at him with their mature eyes. They stood there patiently, unnaturally so for children, imploring a response: A verbal one.

How could he respond to these children that wanted a romanticized hero? And that was just it. He _couldn't_. How was he to explain himself to them?

The hollow hole in his chest grew, and the Rider clutched a hand to his midsection, studdering an "_nh…nuh…nn-oo-_o_h_" in staccato sounds, struggling to force the singular syllable out.

Still, they expected something from him. By Merlin, why did _he_ have to be the one to do this?

…Wait, why did he need to explain anything? Just make a statement and rest at that. He scanned their faces. "I came here for a haven. And I don't know about this war."

He'd had no reason to mention asylum, which _was_ how Arya had billed Ellesmera in subtler terms: A political asylum. How she'd presented Ellesmera…and how he'd really seen it.

He paused, glancing briefly at their somewhat downcast expressions. Several of the kids tried to look stoic, but a few weren't, and their expressions were plain in front of him. "I won't fight." He bit his lip, "can't. Won't. Same thing. Not unless I really have to, and it's in –" no, not the Greater Good. That phrase, having been bandied about in excess post-War, was too trite. "- Unless it's in my _best interest_ to do so."

The wizard didn't know what was in his interest. He wasn't sure when – or if - he _would_ know. But, at least it was a foundation that he could start with.

"Alright?" Their faces weren't readable, even the open-book kids had composed themselves. He lowered his voice, beseeching them. "Alright?" Explaining oneself wasn't a good reason to completely kill their moods.

Alas, Harry had accomplished just that. In the air lay an unrepentant disappointment. And, tearing away from their neutral gazes, the new Rider focused on maintaining his composure. Attempting to ignore the elves' lingering looks, he strode off back in the direction he'd come from, towards the crowded, bustling market.

He could barely stand to witness the disappointment that their masks veiled, and looked to the far-ahead noise as a distraction.

'_Where had the guest gone?_' was the dominant thought in a palace guard's mind. The sun had long since set, and starry lights were beginning to peek through the sky. If he were to be honest with himself, the guard may have admitted that he'd stayed far too late at his job today, but such thoughts were not helpful for the task that still lay before him, and he cast them to the wayside.

The Queen had planned to converse and sup with her daughter and the Rider she'd introduced to Du Weldenvarden, and while the princess had accepted promptly, the newcomer…had yet to be informed of the invitation.

And thus, Sol, a two-century-old guard of the palace, had been issued to locate the errant guest. Since he was conveniently _there_ when the Queen decided to fetch the Rider, responsibility for salvaging the guest had fallen on Sol.

The Rider's…residence…had been the first location that he'd checked, but there were no signs that anyone had been in the place since that morning. If the Rider were still with _The Mourning Sage_, then surely the Elder Rider would inform their guest of his invitation, would he not?

As it stood, the new Rider – Sol had not been given the man's name, and had additionally neglected to ask – was _somewhere_ within Ellesmera or its surrounding area. And after briefly searching some populated areas – the training grounds, meeting grounds, and the market – Sol had resigned himself to rummaging around isolated glades in the hope of getting lucky. Such had been his state for the past hour.

_Perhaps he should go back to the Main Square._ It would mean leaving the forest's tired presence, and he could always begin his search again from there. Lacking fresh ideas, Sol gave into his internal voice and began trudging back to the Square.

It was well that he hadn't hesitated any longer in the decision, for he only caught a glimpse of decidedly _non-pointed_ ears before they melted into the milling throngs. Sol peered at the area he'd seen – supposedly – the Rider in, before realizing it led to the Training Grounds.

Pleased at the prospect of progress, Sol stalked his target.

Harry was grinning, ear-to-ear, as he made his way in the market. He had no idea where he was going, but it didn't matter. Cloaked in a Notice-Me-Not charm, he was free to act as he pleased on his own schedule. The elves walking on his right side paid him no attention: Nor did those on his left, or the merchant vendors peering at passersby from their stalls.

Yet, the wizard had no idea what to _do_ with this anonymity. He'd never had it before. At Hogwarts, he was always conspicuous. Even when marauding the halls in his Invisibility Cloak, Filch, Mrs. Norris, and teachers were on the lookout for errant students – such as himself. The Dursleys' paid him no mind, but still took every step to ensure he didn't embarrass them. As a result, one eye was always on Harry, no matter their fear and revulsion for their nephew. And at Azkaban…well, certain guards had always had a mind for him: As a punching bag.

The worst thing about those beatings wasn't the pain or the experience itself. Only three guards in the compound cared for the practice, and they rotated amongst the inmate population. Harry only suffered once a month at the most.

The agony came afterward, when his Magic stirred incessantly, passing over each gash and bruise, reawakening the sting but unable to heal it. His magic had become _weak_. As time passed, he could _feel_ his magic lessen in size and his whole being shrunk within itself, like a plant cell in plasmolysis or a beach ball that needed more air.

Without adequate care, his magic was never able to gain strength and recover. With each beating, more wounds were inflicted, old gashes became deeper, and an ever-shrinking portion of his body remained unblemished. The only unscathed body part from those three years was the palm of his left hand – though a silvery marking covered it now. Without the knowledge, his current appearance would fool anyone about this old state of being – even himself.

The beatings were probably why, Harry realized grimly, old Malfoy had been so weak after his stay. The idea made sense. During his brief captivity in Malfoy Manor, Lucius had been…sullen, withdrawn. He'd let Bellatrix order him about, and had his wand seized by Voldemort to boot. He hadn't stayed for the final battle. Mrs. Malfoy found her precious son, and she could've bullied Lucius into acceding to her desires. The man, with a weakened frame and further diminished demeanor, no wand, and sullied appearance, had likely given in without protest.

A tall creature with long blond hair passed alongside Harry. _Wait, was that…_

He stared at the retreating figure. Long blond hair, reaching mid-back, Tall, High posture. But the ears were…_pointed_. How could they – right. Elves. Ellesmera.

Puzzled by what to do next, Harry took off to follow the blond elf.

Belatedly, the wizard realized how badly this could end if the elf was returning home. The wizard would be lost, and surely noticed by his quarry. Notice-Me-Nots didn't work well without others around you. Yet as the crowds thinned, he could hear loud noises – the clinks and scrapes of metal upon metal – up ahead. He could make out individual figures training and fighting, when a tenor voice, less than a meter behind him spoke. "**Shur'tugal**"

Harry jumped, cursing himself as he did so for the surprised outburst, yet the reaction was nigh unavoidable. If the Notice-Me-Not was effective before – the voice may not have been directed at him – it had certainly failed now.

Indeed, Harry turned around to find a pair of turquoise eyes studying him intently.

He looked official.

The elf possessing said turquoise orbs – now sparkling in mirth – dropped to one knee. Looking up to his new Rider, he intoned a standard invitation. "The Queen Islanzadi requests the Rider's presence for when she takes her evening repast."

Quite official, he decided.

A dinner invitation? He couldn't remember the last – wait, yes he could. The day before the escape from Kingsley, the traitor had invited him to dine with the Minister. Citing a previous engagement – he was meeting with Andromeda to discuss Teddy's welfare – he'd declined, thankfully.

But he had none of that now, not even a cocksure alternative plan. Plus, this was the _Queen,_ the one who was giving him asylum without any knowledge of who he was. Maybe he shouldn't have fainted the other night?

The turquoise orbs were still trained on him.

"Alright, I accept. When and where?"

"The messenger-elf stood back up. "At dusk, in the Palace's Dining Hall."

"Where is that?" Harry cocked his right eyebrow. "I've been here for less than twenty-four hours, and I don't know my way around."

Chuckling, as if lost in a distant memory only he knew, the messenger curved his lips into a wicked smile. "I can guide you to the Palace. Shall we meet at your residence twenty minutes prior?"

"I don't know how to reach it either."

The smile twisted into a musing grin. "Perhaps I shall accompany you, Shur'tugal, until nightfall, so as to be in a position to guide you then? We will waste no time in locating one another."

If Harry had been asked whether he would enjoy proximity to a boisterous companion, he may likely have refused. Yet the messenger elf, despite being that and more, was _fun_ to be around.

"I am Sol, son of Lunadris," said companion informed him. "I am a sentry at the Royal Palace."

Sol was loud, lively, and lent himself to risks. He was daring and asked many questions that could be considered an invasion of privacy. Yet, skirting those inquiries aside playfully, Harry _liked_ Sol. He was unlike anyone from Hogwarts. He was far wittier than Ron, more forthcoming than Neville, better at listening than Hermione, and very much an independent thinker.

Certainly, the elf had cheek. His second question, after names and pleasantries were exchanged, was a lewd one. "So, did any of the _lovely_ maidens in Main Square catch your wiles? Eh?"

Speaking over Harry's rising blush and sputtered protests, Sol ribbed him further. "Come now. Don't tell me that the new Dragon Rider is a blind hermit." The cheeky grin only grew wider and deeper. Harry blushed further and batted Sol's elbow away to cease the ribbing.

After Arya and Oromis, Harry had supposed that most elves were outwardly stoic or unemotional, but Sol was, if anything, capricious and open. He went from elated laughter at Harry's half-hearted, sardonic statements to sullen gloom at watching spars in the training grounds.

Proficiency in weaponry, Harry learned, was a skill that elves were expected to attain as they matured.

"It's why you'll only see elves under a century old here. Most do not continue with their weapons after meeting accepted standards, and those that do will have partners by the time they leave these grounds," Sol declared.

The interesting facet of that statement to Harry, however, was the 'under a century old' bit. 'Twas a good thing he'd belatedly learned Occlumency. Not having someone else's soul in you made shielding a lot easier, and concealing one's surprise even simpler.

The pair – elf and wizard – watched the Training Ground proceedings for some time, conversing all the while. Sol had two siblings, a brother and a sister. Both had preceded him by numerous decades, and both were involved in the war. The sister was one of a dozen aiding Eragon, and the brother lay in Osilon, a frontline warrior. Eager to avoid the subjects they were treading on the toes of, Harry began supplying information of his own.

He relayed the background of Hogwarts, his erstwhile magical school. Sol, on his part, seemed captivated by the idea. "A school for magic?" He asked incredulously. It took the better part of an hour before Harry realized that the 'school' was as foreign as the 'for magic' bit. Upon the realization, the wizard initially endeavored to elucidate his companion, but faltered as the questions piled on.

_How long did he stay at the school_? "It lasts for seven years, starting when you're eleven, though I only stayed for six."

_Why only six?_ "There were…special circumstances." Harry grimaced.

_Why did they leave home at such a young age?_ "It isn't that young. Er, I don't know what you consider the age of adulthood to be, but it's seventeen for us."

_His age now?_ "Twenty-one."

_Did he have any family where he came from?_ At this, a flash flew across the wizard slash Rider's face, as his eyes scrunched up, the corners of his mouth pulled away in a frown, and an involuntary jerk revealed his reaction to the query. Hoping that Sol had missed the face, Harry was pensive before responding. "Not really. I have a godson – I'm an honorary uncle – who is being cared for by his grandmother."

_Parents?_ "…They died when I was young." Brooding, he muttered, "and Sirius passed away more than five years ago."

_What did he do after the magic school?_ "I lived…" Harry paused, realizing he couldn't say 'London', "near the community for a year. Afterward…there was a rift, and my friends blamed me for an act I hadn't committed and betrayed me. I ended up at the Varden maybe two weeks ago."

_Where were you in the meantime?_ "_Azkaban_," the word tumbled out of his lips. "Do you know what a prison is?" Seeing the blankness of the elf's face, he answered the question for him. "No. Okay. It's…a place where you keep people that committed crimes…or at least people whom everyone _thinks_ committed them. When they betrayed me, my friends sent me to prison."

_What was 'prison' like?_ "You wouldn't understand," was the quick retort. And when his mind caught up to his mouth, he realized how truthful the words were.

They, the elves, and everyone else here, did not know – perhaps even understand – what Harry had lost to Azkaban and, later, the Veil, and Harry didn't expect them to. Thinking about whether he would expect it if he told Sol and others? Only to be disappointed after? Deep-seated, bitter feelings – fear, loneliness, and a crippling uncertainty – coiled in his gut threateningly.

No. He wanted no pity, and he didn't want the disappointment he would feel if they _didn't_ understand. If they did get it, they'd then pity him anyway. It was a lose-lose situation in the Rider's eyes.

He'd take acquaintances over the risk of isolation any day. So he shook his head when Sol queried how the parents survived without the children to do miscellaneous housework, killing the interrogation. The conversation shifted, with neither participant aware of the unspoken decision's gravity. A dozing Antares shifted the distribution of _his_ weighty gravity within Harry's enclosing arm.

As it was, the conversation continued in many veins while the duo rested in the Training Grounds, both failing to notice the Sun's progress overhead until it was just completing its descent from the heavens.

"Perhaps you can show me how to get around another time?" Harry smiled despite himself. He'd known the sentry for all of a couple hours, and yet Sol was his closest acquaintance in the entire world.

Said acquaintance, for his part, was confused by Harry's statement. "How to get around?" He asked.

"It's a euphemism. To give me a tour of Ellesmera and show me how to reach different locations on my own, so I'll no longer get lost."

"But then I will not know when to rescue you, Harry! How will I expect to realize when you need help if you are self-sufficient half the time?" The ribbing had woken up again.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out. You found me here today, didn't you?" Harry smiled, even as he internally recalled how his Notice-Me-Not had failed.

"Perhaps I will. However, I believe I must now guide you to the Palace for your supper with royalty?" The sentry beckoned Harry out of the emptying Training Ground and led the Rider into darkening forest paths.

To Harry, their route was uniform and indistinguishable. He saw no differences between one tree and the next, and every intersection seemed identical. Yet Sol was confident of their direction, never faltering except to chasten Harry to hurry up.

Around the sixth time he did so – Harry had, in his boredom, decided to keep track – the Palace was already within sighting distance. Unlike what Harry was expecting, it didn't seem particularly bright. If he were in Britain, he could stroll down Privet Drive and note which homes' occupants were still awake by the lights streaming through their windows. In London later on, where Harry had lived for a brief year after the Final Battle, the lights never turned off. Traffic lights, car headlights, and the neon signs of a million and one buildings, all provided illumination to commercial areas of the city.

By comparison, the Palace might as well have been a dark closet. There were torches – magical, Harry assumed, by the way they never flickered or bent to the wind – scattered around the perimeter, but nothing of note. It felt as if Harry was leaving a dark forest to enter an isolated log cabin.

A sudden pain wracked through his head, and he furiously shut his eyes, cupping them with one hand. Antares chirped – a step up from his prior squeaking – and the Rider cracked an eye open to glance at the hatchling in confusion and annoyance.

Antares radiated a rich violet halo, contrasting with the paler amethyst of his scales. Alarmed, Harry ignored the splitting pain in his skull to inspect his dragon further, concerned for some unrealized injury. Yet even more color suffused his vision, of greens and blues so deep they were almost black. Next to him, Sol radiated a light yellow, the hue matching its owner's namesake. The tidal wave of color burned Harry's retinas, and he shut his eyelids once more.

When another chirp invited another cracked eye opening, the halo, the tidal wave, the burning was gone. Harry opened his second eye with trepidation. Seemingly satisfied with the return to status quo ante, he noticed Sol's worried expression. Waving him off with a quick "I'm fine", the two slowly resumed their stroll to the Palace.

At the entrance, Sol left him. "I may return to guide you to your residence. If not, ask another sentry here. They'll be pleased with the lapse in monotony." The duo, after an afternoon together, parted ways. Sol ventured back into the dark forest, and Harry moved towards the lighted halls of Queen Islanzadi's Palace.

The eye-color-radiance bled into Harry's sight mid-step as he went into the Palace.

_Merlin, this isn't the _time_ for this to happen!_

Blinking furiously, he willed the color-sight – whatever it was – away as he struggled to get back in line with his escort.

After Sol left, Harry had felt lost, and he asked a guard to lead him to the dining hall. The person took one look at Antares before nodding, turning, and setting off into the Palace's corridors, without a single word passing through his lips. The silence made Sol seem loud as a pair of wrestling giants by comparison. Yet two minutes later, after another instance of eye troubles, Harry stood before the queen.

Queen Islanzadi was regal in a manner that befits the monarch of elves. Her dress, reaching down to the floor, was made of a silky material that swished silently with her every gesture and turn. Though elaborately woven – Harry would kill himself if he had to count every fold within the fabric – it possessed no glitter and reflected no light. That task lay in her jewelry, which covered sundry body parts, though not her ankles. Besides her obligatory jewel-encrusted crown, one ring adorned her right hand, two necklaces hung taut from her throat, and several bracers fitted her arms. As Harry approached, she turned from viewing a tall set of double-doors to witness his arrival.

"Harry," she greeted, "I am pleased that you accepted my invitation." The guard who had escorted the wizard surreptitiously exited the room.

Putting on a loathed but well-worn mask, he responded. 'Of course," the wizard intoned, a smile painting his visage. "How could I refuse such a kind gesture?"

Saving Islanzadi the trouble of responding to his double-entendre, the tall double-doors behind them opened to admit Arya. Her dress was so similar to Islanzadi's that Harry took little notice. Yet the Queen herself immediately turned to behold the ambassador. They didn't hug, or kiss, or hold each other at arm's length, limbs stretched out to meet at their fingertips. Instead, they conjured a palpable affection in the air that Harry strove his hardest to ignore and look away from.

When at last the tension snapped, and the Queen ushered them to the Dining Area, Harry was only too relieved to take notice of the new surroundings.

Considering that this was royalty, Harry half-expected a long table twenty meters long or more, with an immaculate tablecloth and crystal silverware decorating each unoccupied seat. That was not the case. The room was certainly large enough to hold his imaginative illusion, but a small four-seat round table awaited them. No tablecloth. No crystal. Just a wooden – though fancy – table with intricately carved chairs in accompaniment.

The meal consisted of much that Harry had seen at the Market. Fruits, vegetables, grains, and a variety of spreads and spices were laid on the table. One small bowl held a pile of seeds that Harry would have sworn were sunflower seeds, though he had yet to notice the plant itself nearby.

All in all, the Rider enjoyed the food, though he wondered of Antares's diet. Dragons were carnivores, and the one glaring absentee from the repast was meat. Unsure if this was due to a vegetarian lifestyle or some tradition – no meat in the evening, perhaps – he opted against commenting. His food stores still held frozen meat; it would now be reserved for Antares's consumption until further notice.

Conversation, by contrast, was less than wholly pleasant. Much of the first courses were spent by the two elves lecturing him in the history of the world – of Alagaesia. Of the Rider's place in the past age, of Galbatorix, the Fall, the Varden's mission, and Eragon's status. They told of how the Forsworn betrayed and slew the other Riders, how the dwarves sealed themselves off in the Beor Mountains, how the elves took sanctuary in Du Weldenvarden, and how the dragons came to near extinction.

It was a more extensive version of what Arya had told Harry those first days in the Burning Plains. Yet, that talk had been more encyclopedic. Simply the facts of war, Galbatorix's century-long reign, and the power of Riders, along with the current allocation of Eragon on one side versus Galbatorix & Murtagh on the other. (With an egg in the crossfire)

This, Harry was guessing that Islanzadi had yet to be informed of Harry's total knowledge on the subject. She went into detail on certain facets - the atrocities of the Forsworn, the colossal peace-keeping role of the Riders, the nigh unparalleled power they wielded, and Galbatorix's own indiscretions, which Arya had left out. The Queen spoke much of the gathering Elven army and its purpose. He supposed it was similar to how Dumbledore would have explained the War to a fresh Order recruit.

…At that thought, Harry dropped the slice of bread in his hand, Islanzadi pausing to recognize the action before continuing. Yet he immediately wanted to tune out her endless stream of words. _That_ was what this dinner was. A persuasion tactic to join them.

"Look," he stated, stunning the both of them with his lapse of silence. "You want me to fight with you, correct?" Why else would the Queen mention Her army?

It was Islanzadi who answered, "Galbatorix is the reason you require safety and sanctuary in the first place, Harry Black." The response gave him pause.

"And so? I can deal with threats on my own. I am more than self-sufficient in _that_ aspect."

"You have a dragon with you. You are a Rider. Galbatorix will stop at nothing to enslave you. That, I can guarantee." At the words, Arya's lips thinned unnoticeably, eyeing the potential kill that her mother had inadvertently exposed.

"And if he learns of my existence, I'll know exactly who to blame." Harry sternly gazed at his verbal foe. "Arya said that I would require mentorship here, and I have seen nothing that would give me cause to dispute that at the moment. But I don't make decisions lightly, and I will not do so now. You're asking me to go to war for something I have no firsthand experience with."

Their faces and postures betrayed nothing. "I'm not vetoing your request out of hand, mind, but my goal isn't to go to war. Not again."

The conversation and meal continued, but significant matters were not raised again.

When Harry exited the Palace at twilight's hour, Sol lay by the entrance in wait.

"How do you fare?" From the words alone, Sol's fatigue was obvious, and Harry had to suppress a wince. It seemed as if displaying emotions took energy for elves.

"Well, I don't know how long it'll be before I receive an invitation again, but they'll hardly make haste for it." Sol just snorted before unpeeling his back from the Palace's exterior wall, and led the way to Harry's quarters.

The forest paths were nearly pitch-black as the Palace disappeared from view behind the duo.

Sol stopped and raised his hand. "_Naina hvitr un bollr!_" An orb of bright light winked into existence before the elf.

The sight prompted Harry to mimic the move. "_Lumos!_" He held out his arm as he cast the spell, and the light immediately conjured into being. It hung in the air in front of them, moving forward in tune with Harry's stride.

Sol turned. "How did you do that?" His brow, in the newly created light, dropped and his eyes narrowed in confusion.

"The same way you did. I cast a spell." Harry said as his mouth pursued in uncertainty at the question.

"But 'lumos' isn't in the Ancient Language. I've never heard it before. How does it work?"

"It's Latin. Most spells I know are in Latin. You have the intent for a spell say the incantation…and magic does the rest." Harry paused.

"Why is this troubling you?"

"It isn't _done_! The Ancient Language is the _only_ language used for magic. You don't simply yell 'fire' in the common tongue to create one! It wouldn't _happen_."

"It….could. It does. Magic is all about intent…I told you about my school. Incantations for the spells that we learn are decided by the spell crafters. Latin was the most common choice because everyone knew it, but there are spells in French, German, Gaelic…it's not limited to a single language." Harry met Sol's eyes, level with his own.

"Maybe magic theory is taught differently here but you _saw_ that the spell worked." That was indisputable.

The wizard finished speaking, suddenly realizing that the pair had stopped moving. He ended the _lumos_ spell, and beckoned Sol to continue leading down the path, his light guiding the entire way.

For a number of minutes the two walked in near silence, save for their footsteps and ambient forest sounds – like hooting owls. Harry's eyes, the entire duration, were downcast. He cursed himself. He had no illusions that he was average or normal – the dinner discussion had impressed that upon him with ease – but now, even his _magic_ was unique.

The image of Oromis, questioning him about his wand, came to mind. Lost in his thoughts, Harry plodded along behind his escort, step by step. He paid no heed to the rustling wind, and barely caught a sound of Sol's voice before it ceased. Looking up, Sol stared back at him, mouth open, lingering fragments of a query in the air.

"I'm sorry, could you please say that again?"

"I hadn't realized how we know so little of magic. I apologize for causing you stress. Your words and your approach intrigue me – our perspectives seem so different, and yet both are correct in some manner. Your school taught you well –" Harry shook his head furiously, hands shaking.

"The most important, best magic is _never_ taught. It's learned by dire need, or it's passed down from someone _else_ who learned it by such necessity."

Sol grinned and called, "and the stars smile upon you for having learned it." In the low light, Harry would've sworn he saw the elf wink, or perhaps a blink.

His mind had interpreted the former, however, and a heavy presence formed in the Rider's chest cavity. It condensed within him, constricting such that his heart was racing with the effort to avoid implosion. Antares, perched on his left shoulder after the meal, gave a long lick by his clavicle, drawing some of the pressure to a new spot.

Split in two, the feeling was manageable. If only just. A heaviness grew behind Harry's eyelids, a warm enchantment that let a person fall asleep without worry as to what would occur in their consciousness's absence. _Someone cared_. Benevolently. A true fortune and one that he'd too rarely witnessed.

_They were different, yet they were the same. It made no difference to him_. A warmth spread through his veins, traversing more distance with each pump of his heart. A new sense of comfort. A new sense of hope.

And a nostalgic sense as well, one of _home_ taking root in a scarred void within his mind and a desire to make it _blossom_.

Turning towards the dimly lit path and frowning at the poor illumination, Harry didn't bother raising his arm, or verbally stating the spell. _Lumos Sol Maxima_!

*****End**** of Chapter**

_A/N: I'm going to pose a question to all my reviewers. Is there any particular kind of scene/situation/interaction you'd like to see? I can't say that I'll use everything that is suggested, but everything _will_ help me figure out what _needs_ to be in NWNH._

_Thank you for all the reviews in the...7.5 months since I've last posted. Seeing the steady trickle as time went on, believe it or not, does help me realize that people are waiting for me to continue the story. I started NWNH. I have an obligation to finish it. But thank you for impressing that fact upon me regardless._

_Special thanks to AmethystNight88, my beta, who helped me with a few missing elements of the chapter._

_Thank you for all the encouragement and praise in the reviews. For reviewers who posed questions that I'm in a position to answer, here they are:_

_Hideout Writer: The elves _could_ help him, but there's no relationship or camaraderie that he can call on to _ask_ for that aid. It's evident that Harry doesn't know them, and they don't know him. And thanks to the glamour, the elves don't know anything about it...although Oromis now has something to ponder. (That's not a clue - it's a realization I made in answering this)_

_Forcustus5: I'm going to go with Latin. Truthfully, I think magic can be done in any language, but using Latin makes wizards feel as though there's a mystical aspect to it. I'm using google translate for all the non-canon spells, but if a wizard screamed "stop", the object of his attention would probably stop/freeze._

_PriyanshPotter: No love interests for Harry at the moment. I'm toying with a few ideas, but none of them are romantic - they're more like character exposition._

_BardsSong & MysticDew (you both asked similar questions): Both HP & Eragon's worlds use magic, but the way they're both utilized has advantages and disadvantages. For instance, in HP you can avoid the jets of light to not suffer a spell's effects, while in Eragon they perceive magic through their physical stamina, and it takes its toll accordingly. I'm toning down HP's magic slightly, but I consider Harry to be a superior magic-user._

_HonestRobin: Fair criticism, and thank you for it. I suppose I won't try and compensate for the fact that I can't write through a British perspective. I'll work around such things in the future._

_Kan'ya: ...I will neither confirm nor deny any hypotheses about the riddle. I'll simply say that I designed multiple interpretations into it, and you can pick whichever one you want until I finally make it apparent in the story._

_Dracoman: I don't know whether that's possible. I don't have any plans for it, but I don't run the tightest ship when it comes to writing stories._

_josz001: There will be more interludes. QE2 is a nice side-story whenever I get into the mood. I'm a bit stuck on it, but it's only a matter of time before I get an epiphany._

_Lightningwolf325: You see why I'm having fun with this. The Veil, the Riddle...they're all nebulous._

I'm now beta for Lizzie's Last Night on her story Garden of Eden. It's a Harry Potter story with a future Harry x Tom Riddle relationship. I recommend it to anyone intrigued, as it combines _amazing_ prose with a novel take on the Wizarding World. There's not a single fanfiction I can name that resembles the world Lizzie has created.


	12. Chapter 10

_A/N: So, I've read through the entire series…and I'm starting to think that my love for the Inheritance cycle is mostly due to the fact that I read it before entering high school. It's still passable, but my affection is ebbing away. I'm definitely _not_ having this end the way it does in canon, however. That just begs for plot holes._

_If you occasionally check my profile, I post status updates on how far I am on new chapters._

_To anyone who is coming across this story because I'm the beta for the HP fic "Garden of Eden: Remake" by Lizzie's Last Night: See? I _did_ keep my promise of mid-August!_

_I'm not currently using a beta, though Lizzie (read above) is graciously acting as a soundboard for my ideas/plans/random thoughts._

_A more in-depth A/N can be found at the end of the chapter. I have stuff to say._

**Chapter 10**

Eragon passed into Nasuada's tent with trepidation, eyes immediately blinking to adjust to the light difference. He'd fulfilled his promise to his brother, having slain the Ra'zac scarcely the night prior. His hesitant state was in anticipation of both Nasuada's reaction and Saphira's revenge. His partner had made it very clear, upon their reunification, that she had _plans_ to get back at him for pushing her away.

But he had to deal with his liege lord first.

Nasuada, having met him upon arrival to the Varden camp, had led him to her office and entered mere moments before he did. As he watched now, she seated herself behind a collapsible desk piled high with papers. Her cadence was weary and spiritless. The Rider waited, but she seemed preoccupied with a paper on her desk. He understood; she wanted him to sweat. Surprisingly, for the once-farm boy, it was working.

"I presume that the Ra'zac are vanquished?" The words drifted to him lazily, and it took Eragon a moment to realize that she was speaking to him, eyes still glued to the papers.

He quickly took a swallow before lifting his voice to reply, "Yes. They're dead now."

No response, beyond a ruffling of the page. He paused, unsure whether to wait for a response or to break the silence. Yet this was atypical for the Varden leader, and he wanted to finally sleep.

"Roran was…delighted…to reunite with Katrina." Her eyebrow quirked.

"They have been engaged since before they left Carvahall." A shocked look met her comment. "Don't be so surprised, Eragon. Gossip is the quickest-spread information. With her father gone," she continued despite Eragon's grimace, "Katrina has none to hold her back. I fully expect to see newlyweds grace the camp soon."

Eragon grinned. "I will have to return and be present for it."

The liege lord looked up to face him. "You have two fortnights."

"Really?" She was letting him go so easily? Of course, she hadn't demanded his presence until the Battle, but she didn't seem to be _letting him go_. If anything, she was almost pushing him to leave.

"You need further training, Eragon." Guarded eyes assessed him. "Your fight with Murtagh has shown that. You've grown immensely since you left for Ellesmera, and you need to continue. Only with the elves can your strength and skill increase exponentially. We would be a fool to think otherwise. The army will takeover Aroughs in the interim, while you're absent."

"What if Murtagh attacks again? Who will fight him?"

Her lips thinned. "Before leaving, Arya informed me that a dozen spellcasters were being sent to aid us. Should he come during your absence, they will fend him off. Ultimately, only _you_ can eliminate Murtagh and Galbatorix. You remain the Varden's hope, as their Rider."

_Their Rider_. The thought made him quirk his lips as he recalled the new one. Harry Black, and his miniscule, chirping violet dragon. It had already been several days since he'd left, and he was the sole soul who knew the truth. A number of people had approached him regarding the Black, King Orrin the foremost among them. Yet even Angela and Nasuada questioned him occasionally, as did Trianna. They'd all been present when his tent had formed that transparent-blue dome, and many sought him for answers.

When Nasuada had to be informed by the Surdan King, of all people, that the mysterious newcomer possessed a dragon egg, he'd already been in the midst of preparing for the trip to Helgrind, and was spared much of her interrogation. She'd apparently become calmer since then, as he hadn't heard a word about Black tonight.

"Eragon?" She had a questioning lilt in her voice, and the Rider realized he'd been absent-mindedly thinking.

"Yes?"

"The Elven magicians arrived several hours before you. Be sure to meet with them. After that, you can leave for Ellesmera as soon as you're ready," she finished with a dismissal.

"I understand. I'll leave tomorrow morning." He turned away from her and started to face the tent opening.

"One last item. The man who left with Arya, carrying the dragon egg. Check up on how he's doing."

_Easy_. "Of course. I would have done that anyway." Realizing that what he'd said was somewhat odd, he quickly added: "It takes time to get used to Ellesmera, being surrounded by people that are different from you. Elves and men don't see things the same way, but…I had Orik there…with me. Harry…has no one."

He tapered off, winding down his words in a stilted manner that ended the speech awkwardly. Hoping to spare himself from anything further, he strode out of the tent, calling out in his mind for Saphira.

_You had a pleasant meeting._ She spoke to him through their mental connection.

_I don't know if I'd call if that, but it wasn't bad. Were you listening in?_

_I was. I am happy to go back. There is no prey here for me to chase or play with. It is boring._

_But plenty of deer in Du Weldenvarden?_ He inflected a teasing smirk into his voice.

_Yes. And birds. The few that fly here are bundles of bones and no meat._

_It's good that we are returning, then. And we'll fulfill our promise to Oromis and Glaedr._

_Yes. It will be enjoyable to spend more time with them. And to see to the little hatchling._

_Will he have a name, do you think?_

_You took longer to name me, Eragon._ She teased, and he blushed in remembrance. It seemed silly, in retrospect, that he'd mistaken her for a male. And as such it was a point of embarrassment.

_I also had to hide you, and couldn't spend as much time with you each day. But in Elven land? Everyone will praise the dragon, and Harry has no need to hide his presence._

_If the hatchling isn't being cared for, I will roast the little Rider and leave his carcass in the forest,_ Saphira swore.

Eragon finally reached the clearing where Saphira was resting. He lay down beside her, and a sapphire wing unfurled to rest over him.

_I'm certain they're both fine. Go to sleep, Saphira_.

_Goodnight, Eragon._

_Three Days Later_

Unaware that death threats loomed over him (though, after his past brushes with death, he would remain unfazed), Harry continued the ridiculous exercises that his elven instructor was leading him through. The Rimgar. He understood the need for flexibility – if you could evade your opponents, then you could remain uninjured.

Back when Dudley had still played Harry Hunting, his small frame and quickness had saved him uncounted times. Don't let them grab you, don't let them hit you, don't let them _touch you_, and you were still safe.

Yet that revolved more around nimble feet, quick reactions, and an overall agile body. How was clasping his hands behind his head and _pressing his forehead to the ground_ going to help with anything? He had no intention of folding himself into a pretzel.

Touching him on his painfully strained shoulder, Oromis repeated the same words as before. "It requires many years of practice to master the Rimgar, Harry." _Harry_. The elf had insisted that since he was the master, and Harry the student, it was natural that he call the wizard by his given name, and that Harry refer to him more…_respectfully_.

There was no chance that Harry would call anyone 'Master'. He understood the reasoning – Oromis was a _master_ in magic, swordsmanship, and knowledge – but could not bring himself to utter the word as a way of addressing someone.

"I recognize that. However, I fail to understand why it's necessary to be able to fold my body into two." Forget touching your feet with your fingertips. The wizard was almost completely bent at his waist, blood rushing and pooling in his head, it straining to become level with his knees.

"I'm not in a condition to do this."

"True, for now. You will be able to complete the first level of the Rimgar in time, Harry. Have confidence in yourself."

_I'm the only one who's never stopped_, his mind retorted. Still, Harry forced the thought down. After the first, awkward day, he and Oromis had developed a workable relationship. And it was nice to have someone supporting him…even if he was going to pull three muscles.

Harry went down another millimeter, feeling his spine bend evermore, struggling to breathe. His pants, ever harsh, became more desperate as blood rushed and pooled in his head, gravity keeping it from leaving as easily as it had come.

"We will have to work on this more often, Harry. Do not worry, however. You'll get a respite soon – I expect Eragon to arrive shortly."

_Really? Why, he'd _love_ to practice more on the Dance of Snake and Crane._ "Joy," the wizard drawled. "I can't wait."

Oromis shot him a puzzled look, his forehead wrinkling in thought before smoothing out again. "As you say, Harry."

Harry ignored him. His hamstrings were _killing_ him, and the pounding blood in his head meant that he couldn't process any external stimuli. A few moments later, he began feeling woozy. Was he swaying? Absently checking that there were no jagged, pointy rocks on the ground, he collapsed, flipping his body so that he landed on his back. Sweat poured off his head and the blood gradually left, clearing up his thoughts.

He'd noticed that the elves didn't seem to understand sarcasm. He'd made a quip to Sol a few days ago, but it had been completely lost on his companion, who went on as if Harry's words had been meant literally.

Oromis was better at it, but still faltered. He seemed to understand the difference in the wizard's tone of voice, but the non-literal, implied meaning still confused him.

"You cannot lie there forever, Harry."

"But it's so _comfortable!"_ His legs were singing in relief, his backache was slowly receding, and his body felt boneless. He wanted to stretch, but that would require _work_ and his muscles were protesting at the thought of it.

Unluckily for the relaxing Rider, the ground shook as a _THUMP!_ reverberated from nearby. It jarred his bones, and his head rattled as the comfort of lying down was forcefully ripped away from him.

"Excellent. Come with me, Harry."

Disgruntled at the thud that had disturbed his rest, Harry reluctantly rose and joined the old elf. They didn't have to walk far, as the source of the thump was heading straight to them. It was clad in gleaming armor, with an overgrown lizard trailing behind. There was a noticeable absence of a sword at the figure's waist.

Harry realized quickly who it was. The sapphire blue scales were a clear indication.

"Eragon?"

"Remind me why you want us to do this again?"

The wizened elf glanced at the Rider. "Swordsmanship is a crucial skill that you must learn, Harry. Magic has its limits -" Oromis ignored the wizard's scoff, "and wielding a sword is an essential skill you need to survive. Against most, you can survive with magic. Magicians are highly powerful. Yet Riders possess that power and even more."

Harry raised his right brow. "I'm more than even your typical, powerful magician. You know that, Oromis." His frown contorted into a pout. "Besides, you *know* that I'm in no shape for this." His eye twitched at the memory of Oromis's forceful confrontation, days ago, regarding his marks and scars.

"Then consider it a way to improve your fitness. You are my pupil, and you will practice as I instruct you."

Harry turned his face to hide his eye rolling. He spared a glance to Eragon, who was watching them interact with a strange look on his face. He cocked his head. "Alright, just gimme a minute to get my sword."

He removed the chain from around his neck, and whispered, "engorgio." His seven-compartment trunk, still attached, quickly grew in size and weight, and the Lord of the Black family dropped it onto the waiting ground.

It lay there, in all its varnished, wooden glory. The seven golden locks gleamed in the sunlight that managed to stream through to the forest floor. Harry quickly opened the seventh lock, lifting the lid and admiring his possessions therein.

Placed diagonally, both its goblin-forged metal and inset rubies glittered back at him. Harry grasped the hilt and lifted, though it was unwieldy in his hand.

Gryffindor's sword was light, even in his post-Azkaban state. No wonder he'd been able to use it as a twelve-year-old. If only he had a goblin blacksmith to talk to – for some reason, they took it upon themselves to know the history behind _all_ their creations. And Gryffindor's sword, a treasure that had remained in human hands for over a millennium, was near the pinnacle of their blacksmithing lore.

Harry was prevented from pondering his thoughts any further, as Oromis cleared his throat loudly. It was a blatant ploy to get his attention, which despite seeming out of character for the elder, succeeded nonetheless.

"If you will secure your bag, Harry, the two of you may begin."

_Bag?_ Oh, the _trunk_. A murmured _reducio_, and seconds later it was once again a trinket attached to the chain on his neck. Harry turned to Eragon, who was already in a stance wielding a long, flat blade with a strange kink at its point. The sword was poised, parallel to the ground.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be." The wizard held his ruby blade before him, and didn't have to wait long before he was attacked.

How he managed to survive the first few blows remained a mystery to the Black wizard. Eragon's strikes were powerful and relentless, he idly thought before sidestepping a downward cut and twirling away. He had magic, but couldn't decide what to _do_ in the negligible pause between each thrust and parry and dodge, and the nimbleness and quick reactions demanded of him took too much concentration away from his inner monologue.

On the too-frequent occasions that he couldn't avoid Eragon's blade, Harry was all too grateful for his own. The sword of Gryffindor seemed to have a mind of its own, manipulating his arm so that it could clash with Eragon's falchion, sparing the Black from harm.

The falchion whistled towards his left side, and Harry jumped back five feet, raising his blade to be level with his torso. Eragon lay three feet away, but his entire frame was a tense coil, raring to strike out. When it came to sheer strength, Eragon won. In experience, Eragon was again superior. He was more prepared, and more comfortable with the situation. Harry had only two things going for him, and his agility was better by only a hair.

That left his magic. Taking a heavy breath, then another, Harry shifted his stance. Eragon had mirrored him, pausing to reorient himself before the skirmish continued.

He could perform a spell – or spells – but the Rider could undoubtedly dodge or deflect them with his sword. Saying them audibly would only give the other more warning. Yet performing them silently and wandlessly would be uncertain. On a normal day, he could do it without question. Yet it required too much concentration that was devoted to keeping his head attached to his neck, and his body away from that kinked falchion of Eragon's. He needed better positioning. But Eragon wouldn't give that to him willingly.

_No,_ his shoulders threatened to slump. He'd never get enough space between them to think up and perform a spell that could end the fight. Perhaps a _stupefy_ would suffice, but he wouldn't have any reaction time if it failed – he'd flat-out lose, and Eragon might not be able to hold back his strength.

_Bye-bye Harry_.

_FOCUS!_ His ears whistled, and Harry realized too late that Eragon had resumed attacking. In his inner turmoil, the wizard's sword arm had fallen limp. The falchion was hurtling towards his left flank. He stumbled right, sloppily lifting his blade to block, when everything seemed to freeze and the wizard/Rider realized their collective stance.

Eragon had a determined expression on his face, eyes locked on the spot where their swords had parried clumsily. His feet were in an open stance, giving his sword, which had swung diagonally downwards, all the more force behind it. The Rider was balanced and prepared – he could disengage their swords and sweep into a new attack the next moment.

And as for himself? His entire body was tilted away from Eragon's pressing bulk, trying to create distance, but failing. Taken out of context, he almost seemed to be cowering. His feet were inches apart, legs crossing past each other, almost in the act of tripping over himself. The wizard's right arm was outstretched, trying to maintain some futile sense of balance, while his left was raised high, gripping his sword precariously as it locked with Eragon's.

His sword was pointed straight down, with little force to hold its position. It hung like a gaudy chandelier, and his hand was the chain. Sure, it would always be there. Yet it someone was to push, Gryffindor's sword would swing like a pendulum.

It was vulnerable and embarrassing. _He was going to lose if he didn't _do_ something._

And then time seemed to unglue itself from that moment of clarity. Harry's legs didn't trip over themselves, and instead he broke into a short sprint, desperate to put distance between his opponent and himself. Eragon, fortunately for the wizard, had too much rotational momentum, forcing him to spin and pivot away from where the wizard was running, granting a few precious seconds.

After dashing over a dozen feet, Harry twirled wildly, his right leg spinning until it came to rest in front and to the right of his left. A right-forward stance. It was more than familiar. The wizard had used this position in dueling and other fights for years…ever since the DA. As though a piece had slid into place, the wizard's entire mentality shifted. For this first time in days, Harry Black felt _comfortable_.

The Shadeslayer had recovered from his overextension, and was eyeing him balefully. Heavy plodding hit his ears, and the hero of Farthen Dur was dashing towards him, falchion poised at the ready, its deadly curve zeroed in on him.

Gripping Gryffindor's blade more firmly until his knuckles blanched even further, the Black Lord's eyes dilated, and a sliver of doubt re-entered his mind. _He wasn't a swordsman. He'd barely used it, hadn't held it in years, had no idea how to respond with a massive hulk of muscle with steel blades rushing in to impale and murder him. _

_He needed to get away. Maybe not escape. But get around, avoid, away._

Five feet and closing fast, the sickly-bright falchion was rearing back to thrust into his throat – the gorier, the merrier.

_Get away. Avoid. Away._

Barely seconds until it would close in, but the wizard was unresponsive. Eragon's eyes widened, frantically searching in wonder and fear. What was he doing?

_Get around, away, __**get away, **__**GET AWAY!**_

Eyes further widened in horror. He realized he couldn't stop, and closed his eyes, waiting painfully for impact.

_**CRACK!**_

A sonic boom ripped through the clearing, as the falchion tore straight through an elm tree that neither noticed had been behind Harry. The elm slowly registered that its trunk had been halved. Its strong, centuries-old roots had stopped tethering the towering branches and leaves. Yet it eventually did, and the tree's top half soon collapsed, falling away from the combatants to land with another deafening _**THUD!**_

Eragon re-opened his eyes, braced for the sight he would face. The boom left him temporarily deaf, but his sight was deceiving him. There was nothing there! Just a stump of a tree trunk!

A sharp sword with glittering rubies at its pommel found its way onto Eragon's shoulder, as the Rider struggled to process his situation. Cold steel chilled his throat and jawbone, and he turned slowly, hesitantly, trying not to provoke the sword's wielder.

The length of goblin-forged steel stretched before him, from the tip near his chin to a ruby-egg hilt. An impossibility stood there. With bone-white knuckles and a cursed, killing glare, Harry Black held him at sword-point.

He stood there in a timeless realm with the other, frozen in a deadly pose. Blood pounded in his head, in his heart, in every fiber of his being, as if dams had simultaneously burst all across his body. The adrenaline was coursing too, rushing everywhere and at once unnerving and exciting him. Harsh breaths raggedly tore into and out of his lungs, the oxygen insufficient to sustain his rediscovered fight-or-flight response, and his mind incapable of steadying his respiration to calm down. He was locked in his pose, as if by rigor mortis, and he couldn't shift away.

Eventually, after an immeasurable pause, the epinephrine drained away, leaving his arms jittery and unresponsive. His limbs all shook – his legs from the strain of supporting him, and his arms from holding their position. The grip on Gryffindor's sword slackened, and it fell limply to his side, the point burying itself in the dirt as the wizard's entire body started collapsing on itself, unable to function.

"_Game."_ Harry's lips struggled to push out the word, but succeeded with minimal garbling. "_Set. Match."_ He fell into a kneeling position, hands using the sword as a crutch, before his muscular system gave up entirely, and he collapsed onto the ground.

As he drifted into unconsciousness, the wizard remained unsure. Had his magic been accidental, or had his apparition been consciously driven?

Harry rose sluggishly but panicking as prior events slammed back into him. Wobbling onto his own two feet, he heaved a grunt. Where to go? What to do now? Where _was_ he now?

Glancing back, the wizard noted the feather-bed, similar to the one in his tree-house. But the room had a sloping roof and uneven strips of wood. It wasn't a tree, let alone his. He stepped out into the rest of the dwelling, only to come to a threesome he'd never expect to witness together.

Oromis, Eragon, and _Sol_ were sitting together at a table, speaking in low tones. _Oh, Merlin_. The three people he actually…somewhat…knew, and who knew him, had been conversing while he was unconscious. The wizard paused at the thought and wondered: was there anything tawdry or embarrassing that they knew, and could gossip about?

Eragon didn't give him time to ponder the fact, as he suddenly rose and called to him, grabbing Harry's arm and leading him to the table, dropping him at a vacant chair. "How are you feeling?" The elder – well, _longer-existing_ – Rider questioned him, worry written into his creased face.

Harry shrugged. "Fine, I suppose." Eragon's worry, still visible, hadn't lessened a single iota. _Fine, I'll elaborate_. "I'm kinda tired, kinda achy. I'm still not quite all _here_ – my mind is a bit cloudy at the moment – but I'm fine. I've got everything…" Harry trailed off, mentally making a checklist of his possessions.

His hand grasped his neck-chain, feeling for the miniature trunk. "_got that"_, his other hand reached into his left pocket. "_Got my wand"_. Eyes scanned the surroundings, and found nothing. "Where's Antares?" Looking wildly, the glint of Eragon's falchion caught his attention. "And where's my sword?"

Eragon averted his eyes, and Oromis became still as a statue. _Where on Earth _were_ they?_

Something poked Harry forcefully in the chest, nearly tipping his chair back. He was _so_ going to destroy that intrusion. "Antares is outside with Saphira and Glaedr." Oh…it was _Sol_ poking him. Damn it, he couldn't destroy elves…and Sol was the best of the bunch. Maybe he could find someone else – some_thing_ else – to stab, then. Once he got his blade back, of course.

"Your sword vanished shortly after you fell, sleeping."

His right eyebrow quirked up in a manner that was probably _far_ too expressive, but the gesture – and reaction – was fun. A childish, petulant part of him wanted to harrumph at the lack of useful information, but it was quashed when Oromis cleared his throat.

He _never_ did that. Except to make long monologues, that is. When had he unfrozen from being a statue?

"Now that your confusion is dissipating, Harry, I have an announcement that will affect all three of you." His eyes back-and-forthed between Eragon and Harry, but rested on Sol intermittently. "You are all aware that the elves will be marching to battle to join the Varden, and to open up another front that will force Galbatorix to divide his forces. However, this march will in fact begin in a few scarce days' time."

"And along with Queen Islanzadi, I will help lead our army."

"_**What?"**_

Eragon was beginning to wonder just how well he actually _knew_ his mentor. With his disabilities, he was going to put himself on the front lines?

"But what of Harry's training?"

The crow's feet deepened around Oromis's eyes. "Harry will come with me, and I will instruct him during the pauses between battle."

_He cleared his throat._ "There is little to worry about, Eragon. True, Harry's skills as a Rider do not match yours. His swordsmanship, as you witnessed, is shaky. However, Harry is a master in his own right." Oromis smiled. "He is a greater magician than any I know."

"If this were any other time, I would agree with you. However, we are left with few options." The old elf rose, strolling to a nearby bookshelf. He paused before it, scanning the different books and scrolls, before finding a worn one and retrieving it.

He spread it onto the table. It was a map of Alagaesia. "The Varden has pursued a punishing pace to end this war. They are approaching Feinster as we speak, and can arrive at Uru'Baen in two months or fewer. If we elves wish to aid them, then we must form an army immediately and begin battle."

Eragon glanced around at his tablemates. Oromis was tense, his finger steadily pointed at the southwestern quarter of the map – Surda, the Jiet River, and cities on the Empire's side of the border. Feinster, Aroughs, and Belatona were marked. The other elf, Sol, seemed pensive but worried. He knew little of the palace guard beyond his name and occupation, and the Rider had difficulty discerning his thoughts. Across the table, Harry was almost faltering. Bone-white fingers gripped the table, shaking visibly but not violently. Color drained from his face, lips thinned, and breathing almost ceased.

Unsure what else to do, he blurted out a pointless question: "Are you alright?" Icy green eyes met his, before the newer Rider smiled and shook his head. "Don't worry, I'm fine. I think I should check on Antares." And with a grace that few humans possessed, Harry got up, pushed his chair in, and exited the shack, raven hair swaying from the incoming breeze.

Another glance at his mentor and new acquaintance, and Eragon made up his mind. "I'll be back," he said before following. The Rider swept out after his fellow man, not lingering enough to hear Oromis advise the younger elf: "Keep an eye on Harry. He struggles with a demon that none of us seem to recognize."

Eragon found the wizard with his back propped against a tree, absently petting the dragon in his lap. His gaze was focused downwards, but past his feet, onto bare ground. Hands glided over the dragon's back and head, rubbing behind the ears and on the brow. The pair was submerged in umbrage, but calmness radiated in the clearing nonetheless. The Shadeslayer approached them with unhidden footsteps, finally sitting down besides his fellow Rider.

"He looks well."

Harry nodded. "He does." A brief silence settled, before he broke it. "Antares is beautiful. I love the color of amethyst. It's a color of dusk."

_Dusk?_ The reference confused him. "What is the significance of _dusk?_"

Green eyes focused on him. "It's a transition. The darkness is steadily coming, but there's enough light to see and appreciate what you have. We go to sleep before the night comes, afraid of what it contains, and hope that when we wake up, it'll be dawn."

He continued, "Amethyst is the same way. It can be light, reflecting all the light you have. But it's also dark; it's the last shade you get before everything fades into Black. You can watch it darken and lighten again."

A smile that _maybe_ reached his eyes shone back at Eragon. "Thank you, by the way."

"For what?"

"For stopping me from withdrawing. I… get…urges. To just retreat behind mental walls, to detach myself and stop caring. But I don't want to actually go through with it. I don't want to sleep."

"You're insomniac? Do you have nightmares?"

Only a snort met Eragon's query. "No. That wasn't meant literally." Eyes shifted down to Antares, and his hands continued petting.

He didn't look up to speak. "All I ever see is the coming night. Gathering darkness. And the moment I think it's over, something new heads my way." An indiscernible sigh left him.

_Perhaps his eyes are downcast for a reason_, Eragon thought. The wizard was prone to moodiness, sulking and bitterly relishing it. _He's tired of false starts, of thinking that a problem is solved, only to look up and see others taking its place._

Wind and leaves noisily rustled in the clearing, but failed to disturb the two, both mired in thoughts. Harry continued petting his dragon, his entire being still, apart from his hands.

_I was right to worry_, the Shadeslayer thought. _He seems plagued._

The first extensive conversation Eragon had ever held with Harry had ended badly. He understood the other better, but the Black seemed to be emotionally charged about _everything_. Almost nothing wasn't a sore or sensitive point. Little was off-limits for the wizard, but that didn't mean he was unaffected. His emotions were like treading on egg shells.

And now, this motif of dusk and dawn, darkness and light. Eragon couldn't quite understand it. His own life was straightforward. He'd had a simple living until Saphira's egg came, then came the turmoil of the Ra'zac and Galbatorix. And once Galbatorix fell, all would be peaceful again.

Harry seemed to think himself constantly venturing into darkness, with no way out.

"You can defend yourself against the threats found in darkness, at least. If you hold on, the dawn will eventually come."

He waited, but Harry didn't seem to be bent on replying.

"You don't seem confident in your blade, but you won our duel in the end. Things will work out, Harry."

No response. Eragon waited, but the other Rider made no move to confirm he'd even _heard_ his words. An arm snaked around Harry's back, gripping his shoulder, shaking him, but the wizard was a ragdoll in his arms.

"Harry! Snap out of it!" He pressed frantically, jostling the other, disturbing the amethyst dragon until it leapt off the wizard's lap, disgruntled. But the new Rider remained cold, detached.

It wasn't until Antares rose onto his haunches and licked Harry's cheek, splattering drool, that the wizard reacted and gave a start, rearing his head back until it collided into the tree behind him with a _Thwack!_

"_Owwww," _he clutched his pounding head and groaned, lowering it into his lap. "What happened?" He asked it of the world.

"You withdrew into your mind," Eragon commiserated. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I guess. It'd be pretty pathetic of me to die from a headache."

"Everything is fine?"

"I don't have a concussion, if that's what you're wondering."

They fell into silence again, but Eragon laved attention on Harry, trying to ensure that he wasn't slipping back. Whether it be eye contact or anything else, the Shadeslayer wasn't prepared for another shock.

Unbeknownst to them, more time had passed than the duo realized, and with a start, Eragon could barely distinguish the tree's shade from normal daylight.

"We should head back," he announced, grabbing an unproffered arm and pulling Harry to his feet anyway. "You're certain that you're fine?"

An icy emerald gaze met his. "I told you that I am."

He could think of nothing else to say, and they treaded softly through Du Weldenvarden until they came to their neighboring Rider residences. Harry made to leave towards his, but Eragon pulled him back.

"How about we pull an all-nighter, and stay up to see dawn?"

A gleaming smile was his reward, before Harry tilted his head and shook it. "I'd love to, but neither of us can afford it. We'll be too tired to enjoy tomorrow. It'd be a shame." He softly pulled his arm back from Eragon's grip, meeting no resistance.

"We'll see each other tomorrow." And Harry Black walked off, preparing for sleep.

_**End Chapter**_

_I gave an open invitation for scene suggestions. Really? Nobody really took me up on it! Oh, well. I guess I'll just have to insert that slash that someone begged me for…_

…

_(just kidding)_

…

_About relationships in NWNH: Nothing is going to be explicit, but I do plan on having one (maybe two) same-sex relationships exist. Harry won't be involved in one, in case anyone's wondering. But a stroke of genius hit me, and my mind is just about made up. Want to guess who?_

_I must express thanks to Lizzie's Last Night, who's been a great inspration for helping me sit down and write this chapter. She churns out her work at a breakneck pace compared to me. _

_Coincidentally, I also beta for her story "Garden of Eden: Remake". It's amazing, and one of my favorites in the HP section at the moment. It's slash, but there isn't much at the moment, and the plot, prose, character development, etc. is simply too good to reject just because of something as pithy as _slash_. Please. Check her story out._

_Summary: __The wizarding world is at war against vampires and students are vanishing. Harry has a perfect life, except the man who appears in his dreams, claiming Harry as his, and Harry is starting to question whether this man is even human. The man isn't his most hated person - that title belongs to his DADA teacher, Tom Riddle._

_**Thank you to everyone who's read, followed, favorited, and reviewed. I've checked over the statistics, and I never cease to be amazed.**_

_Over 750 favorites, almost 1000 alerts, over 360 reviews, and almost 150,000 hits. And 63 Communities. Thank you to everyone. Please stay with me._

_To reviews: Thank you to everyone who reviewed. If you posed a question or something I can respond to, here's my answer:_

_Hideout Writer: He still has his same magic from Britain. The difference is that his magic works differently than it does for people in Alagaesia, and it's shocking to them._

_Ramses the Great: I enjoy writing the conversations most. The fight scene was a close second, but conversation is where I love to do character development and exposition._

_Beezlebubbles: Thank you for reviewing each chapter. Seeing your incremental opinions was certainly interesting. The whole dragon vs broom speed is a giant mess. I know that._

_Mustangforfuhrer: I'd actually sketched a scene between Harry and Rhunon to take place during Sol's tour of Ellesmera. Maybe I'll have it in a flashback, should Harry's sword ever be the subject of conversation._

_Frytrix: The war is imminent, and Harry's getting sucked into it. As such, he doesn't have time for most of what Eragon learned/accomplished._

_Naginator: Angst is a central part of who Harry is. I hope you see it as character exposition – that's how I intend it._

_RightArmCannon: I agree that Orrin isn't an ass, but he's an inept buffoon. For that, I dislike him._

_MysticDew: Thank you for being the only person to suggest a scene. I hope the apparition scene fits your request for Oromis being "gobsmacked", even if I don't narrate his reaction._

_DemonFoxgirl1000: I'm not sure if Harry's animagus form will come up. All I can say is: look to Blagden._

_KeidaHattori: Harry probably won't learn it before the war is over. If he ever will…I'll probably write the epilogue before I go into that._

_Jomandterry: Thank you for the compliment. I definitely forced myself into writing certain parts of NWNH. I also wanted the tone to reflect the Inheritance Cycle a bit – older, archaic, maybe a bit dry. It helps me stay in tune with the characters._

_Impstar: Harry won't be involved in slash. Spot the lack of promises, and you'll see where my inclination lies. (I love riddles sometimes)_

_Random thought: It's amazing how the HP/Inheritance section has doubled since I began writing this._


	13. Chapter 11

_A/N: Yeah, it's been...10 months. I apologize. I went through my first year of college, and while it was amazing, it was also stressful and my classes consumed huge swathes of my time._

Also: **I need people to talk to about NWNH**. As in, someone whom I can discuss plot points. Someone who can be more than a sounding board. I need people whom I can confer with, because after I read Brisingr and Inheritance, I kinda stopped caring too much about the Inheritance Cycle. I want to finish NWNH, and I can't stand the idea of abandoning or letting someone else adopt it.

This isn't quite the same as being a beta. Maybe a 'consultant'. I appreciate help with proofreading, but it's not what I'm mainly looking for. I write well enough on my own. **If you'd like to be a consultant, let me know in the review, or PM**

** me.**

_Without further ado, I present the Chapter-that-was-Long-Overdue.  
_

* * *

NWNH Chapter 13

* * *

"Perhaps I should go?" Harry flashed a smile. It was his diplomatic, disingenuous smile of thinly veiled distaste.

"Yes, _please do_," his newfound adversary spat. Both ignored the apoplectic Sol, who was trying and failing to mediate.

Harry shrugged and turned away from the training grounds with a projected expression of mirth. Giving a staggered sigh, he blinked back the hot tears and strolled off, ignoring Sol's call for him to stay. He wasn't in the mood for confrontation, and remaining at the training grounds would accomplish little else.

He'd barely had a minute's peace before footsteps rushed toward him. Eyes swept his surroundings to confirm bystanders; spying a group of elves approaching, his urge to grip his wand subsided. If someone had followed, they wouldn't attack in the presence of witnesses.

"Harry, wait." It was Sol.

"What?"

"Please, let's go back. The one who bothered you has left." The elf's eyes had a glint of hope in them. They always did,

"Don't worry about it. Let's just go relax. I'm tired," the Rider pleaded. "One day's practice isn't going to make much difference for me. I'm pants at swordfighting anyway."

"You're a beginner. A day's practice means more for you than for anyone else," the elf countered.

"Stop being so clever. Look, I'm not in the mood. And even if he's gone, I don't feel comfortable practicing with all the other onlookers. Actually, what was that person's name?"

"Revan"

"Is there a way for me to identify him besides his name?"

"He's the son of Ervan and Omine"

"Perfect. Thank you." Having stored the information away, Harry resumed his walk. He imagined a squawk accompanying Sol's move to keep pace with him, and chuckled.

* * *

"I am reconsidering accompanying your army." Islanzadi's reaction was a mystery to him – she never dropped her composure – but Harry doubted it was positive. Now, how to play this?

The response was _icy_. "And what, Rider, has prompted your change of heart?" A glance up confirmed it. The Queen's cold tone was duplicated in a chilling gaze, and he shifted his eyes to escape it.

"I've…noticed hostility from many elves whom I presume are part of the army. My presence clearly riles them. No idea why, but…I never fight well when I'm in a bad mood, and I assume the same for them." _Please, just buy it._

"My subjects have the utmost discipline. They let nothing interfere with their performance, particularly when their lives are at risk in the future."

_What?_ "Um, your…Highness? I can't enter the training grounds without being accosted. Your faith may be…misplaced." He struggled to maintain dignified composure. How was one supposed to act when flat-out saying that another person was wrong?

"Rider Black, I beseech you not to judge elven forces by the minority that loiters in the training grounds." She spoke officiously, as if her every word were an announcement. "Only the most youthful or inexperienced warriors frequent it, and their opinions differ greatly from the rest of my forces, including those who would be above you in authority –"

"Wait _what_?! Your Highness, I don't do well with authority, if that hasn't become apparent yet. I will _not_ follow orders of some random elf whom I don't know or respect. I want to aid you – at least tentatively – but don't presume that you can foist me off under someone's command."

Her eyebrow upturned, and the icy chill in her tone grew "And how would you act instead?"

Biting the inside of his cheek to avoid frowning, he mulled it over. "Well, I'm not sure I'm going to accompany the army in the first place. That's a misleading question. But I'd collaborate. I'd find things to do that are tenable and help your army."

Between them, a brief silence grew. Harry desperately wanted to finish this business, walk away, and briefly close his eyes, but leaving the Queen without permission – and especially when there was an issue outstanding – might be an action classified under 'Death Sentence'. Or 'Extremely Rude'. Either worked, really.

His face contorted almost by default into a grimace as Islanzadi continued to think and remained silent. _How did this woman always best him?_ Whether in the matter of Oromis, the initial offer regarding the army, or others, Islanzadi had always ended up getting her way. The thought had almost been enough to keep Harry away from this meeting – there was little chance that he'd succeed in avoiding the army – but he had too much damn bravery to not try.

"Here is my proposal." Islanzadi paused for the Rider to absorb her words. "You will accompany my army. You will report to Oromis. You may abstain from the frontlines, and Oromis will give you tasks to perform instead. You will not sabotage, through express action or inaction, the army in any manner. Should you find an order by Oromis to be untenable, you will negotiate for a different task. Is that clear?" With eagle eyes, she stared at Harry, anticipating his response.

That response, in fact, began with a long-suffering sigh "Crystal," he replied. "Is our business concluded, then?"

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

A man swept through the abandoned remains of the elven army's camp. He wasn't sure why – if there was anyone intruding, he _should_ be able to hear them and sense them – but it was expected of him. Lo and behold Harry Potter-Black, glorified sentry.

Because he didn't wish to fight, he'd naturally been selected to keep watch on the camp while the _army_ fought. They were currently in Ceunon, some city in the north that the Empire controlled. Oromis had shown him its location on the map, and the Rider had lifted an eyebrow. It was so isolated; _they were fighting in the middle of nowhere!_

Apparently, since the Varden had chosen to buy time in their approach from the South, it fell to the elves to do the same from the North. The two armies needed each other present if they hoped to take Uru'baen, and neither side could afford to loiter around, waiting for the other to show.

Hence a war campaign in perhaps the most isolated part of the 'Empire'.

The elves seemed to be amazing fighters when compared to their human counterparts. Harry had been used to send a message to the frontlines earlier that day, and it didn't escape his notice how the elves, graceful and powerful as always, seemed to cull Galbatorix's army like cattle. Inwardly, he knew that Oromis would use this as a lesson later on the importance of strategic magic use in warfare. The wizened old elf had been lecturing on battle tactics – _battle tactics_, of all things! – ever since the army had begun its migration from Ellesmera to the Empire's territory. Not that the wizard ever planned on _needing_ army-style battle tactics, but he wasn't sure how to get Oromis to stop without inadvertently insulting him.

At least it was vaguely more interesting than History of Magic with Binns. Magic was magic, after all, however irrelevant it would be. Oromis probably wouldn't take kindly to him sleeping during lessons.

He hadn't progressed much since leaving Ellesmera. His style of wielding magic was too different from that of Oromis (and everyone else, apparently), so that front was largely at a standstill. The elf had left him in secluded areas with the instruction to 'be at one with his surroundings'. After several sessions of zero progress and blank stares, the directions had been amended: 'connect with your surroundings the same way you do with Antares. Mentally.'

Harry was still having trouble with that. He'd taken to bringing Antares with him whenever he had those sessions. They were mentally exhausting: he finally had decent Occlumency shields, and yet he was expected to discard them and interact with _everything_? In his mind's eye, the Rider could always imagine his consciousness spreading out in a radius, further and further out, as though his consciousness were a ripple in a pond. Yet the attempts always fizzled out after a few minutes, and it left Harry with a raging headache while his instincts screamed to withdraw behind his occlumency shields.

His instincts were screaming right now, actually.

Harry turned, only to catch a glimpse of black dashing out of sight behind a row of tents. Eyes hardening, the Rider pulled his invisibility cloak from his pocket, draped it over himself, and followed, charming his feet to make no noise as he walked.

Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised by what he found. If there was no need for camp defense, there wouldn't _be_ sentries in the first place. Yet it surprised him how the black-clad figure methodically combed through the rows of tents and makeshift structures, apparently with a specific destination in mind.

For once since Harry had arrived, it actually _was_ his job to fight. He'd agreed to the post, after all.

The Rider considered his options. Antares was alone in his tent, surrounded by all the wards he could muster. The dragon was safe, certainly. Harry was thus the only one at risk in the almost-definite future confrontation. He had his wand, his invisibility cloak, and Gryffindor's sword. Of those three, Oromis had proscribed the use of the wand, the cloak wouldn't help after a fight ensued, and he was crap at swordfighting.

He raised his hand out to the figure. It was pretty clear what he had to do. "_Accio_", he whispered, and the black figure suddenly flew through the air like a puppet whose strings had been yanked.

Drawing Gryffindor's sword, Harry slashed towards the summoned figure, drawing blood on his left shoulder blade. With the basilisk poison that still lingered on the sword, the duel would be over in seconds.

Harry hadn't counted on the figure crying out in a jarring, inhuman tone. The sound screeched through his frame, and the Rider reacted brashly with another sword-strike. When the strike provoked still more pained screams, the sentry panicked, withdrew the sword, and stabbed again in the throat. Spurts of blood jetted upward, staining Harry's clothing and sword.

The screams vanished into gurgles of blood as the light left the figure's eyes. Slowly, the pulses of blood broke off, and a simple stream of crimson began soaking the ground. The sword stayed lodged in the figure's throat, its owner frozen. Harry remained there, stuck, for indeterminable seconds before a brief flurry of wind shocked him from stupor.

Pulling his sword from his fleshy sheath, he barely noticed the blade's disappearing bloodstain before breaking off in a full spring towards his tent. Nothing mattered except running home to reassure himself that all was well, nothing had changed, and to forget that a fight had _**ever**_ happened. He dashed through an opening between two neighboring tents, not even sheathing his sword or remembering to conceal himself with the cloak. The charm silencing on his feet was still active, but the wizard was clearly visible.

A glint of light appeared in the corner of his eye and Harry spun into a throwing knife, promptly collapsing from the impact as it drove into his right pectoral, digging in-between ribs. A flash of red light shot forth, and Harry was rendered unconscious.

* * *

A large, shaggy black dog with pristine, recently-groomed fur ambled towards the fallen figure, sniffed, and alternately uttered short, loud barks and low, drawn-out moans. More black figures arrived, alerted by the dog's howls, and the sentry disappeared from the encampment.

* * *

The battle for Ceunon lasted mere hours, and the victorious elves rejoiced for a number of hours in the town before returning to their undisturbed encampment. There were no signs of trespassing, and to all but a few, the day had gone perfectly. It was unfortunate, then, that those few were mostly influential figures.

Oromis searched for his student, but after a cursory search for his mind and an inspection of his tent, Harry was still not to be found. Glaedr confirmed that although the hatchling dragon was present, he could not find the bonded Rider either. Naturally, they quickly informed the Queen of the development, and she became as displeased as they were.

Within minutes, Harry's only close acquaintance was summoned, but Sol had no idea of Harry's whereabouts either. That his dragon had been left behind only served to perplex the elves and dragon further.

Sol's concern for his friend was paramount. "What shall be done? What if he's in danger?" he asked.

Islanzadi was silent for a brief minute before pursing her lips and making the solemn declaration. "We shall do nothing. Guard the Rider's bonded dragon and ensure its utmost safety, but we cannot afford to send out search parties and stall when the army will be departing for Gil'ead within days. Harry Black will simply have to come back to us, and we must hope for his safe return.

At the declaration, they quickly retired for the night.

* * *

Harry woke up in a cold and dingy gray cell. Disoriented, he searched his surrounding environment for any clues as to where he was. _Gray wall, gray floor, gray ceiling, gray bars with…an identical cell opposite. Great._ When the thought struck him to look left and right through the bars, his body suddenly bolted up. He rushed out of bed and hastened toward the bars…

…and promptly tripped over his own two feet.

On closer inspection, he _hadn't_ tripped over himself, but he _had_ failed to notice a chain linking his right ankle to the bedpost. In hurrying toward the bars, the chain must've held still and his forward momentum had forced him into a fall.

_At least nobody was here to see that._

As though Luck was out for his blood, a clack of footsteps reverberated through the cell, and Harry scrambled to his feet, thankfully _not_ tripping again. Approaching his cell was a man above average in height, with grey eyes that tried to be steely but only glinted in mischief. His jailer – for who _else_ could it be? – had black, wavy hair that flowed to his shoulders. A single lock broke towards his right eyebrow, accompanying a mustache and beard. Dressed in resplendent clothing, he gave the air of nobility, a contrast with his seemingly low-status occupation of warden.

"Are you done staring?" The man questioned, startling Harry out of his thoughts. "I know I'm handsome, but _seriously_, I'm taken." He didn't wait for Harry to respond. "We found you near a battle. Care to tell us how you came to be there?"

Harry brushed his question aside. "Where's Antares?" he demanded to know.

"Antares? Who's that?"

"He's my…" too late, he realized the danger of claiming to have a dragon. "…pet," he finished lamely.

"Oh. Interesting. What kind of animal?"

Harry blanched. "…a snake," he lied.

The jailer began looking off-balance to mimic Harry's emotions, his grey eyes widening with indiscernible emotions. "Oh. How…pleasant, if that's your thing. I always had a tendency towards furry creatures."

A pregnant silence ensued between the two. "I'm more attached to him than I thought I'd be," Harry murmured.

"In any case, he may be where we found you, but we aren't capable of going there yet. However, we could easily retrieve your…pet… if you could explain to us how you came to be where we found you."

_Where they found me?_ "Well, I'm not sure I can answer that," Harry blushed, "unless I _know_ where you found me."

Grey eyes narrowed. "I told you, we found you near a battle."

"I've had to fight a lot of battles to get to where I am now in life." A snort greeted that statement, before the jailer make a half-hearted attempt to calm himself.

"Well, at least you're in good health and good humor. In any case, it probably isn't safe for you out there – we found you unconscious with a stab wound in the chest." Eyeing the spot, he remarked, "You seem to be healing well."

"I tend to do that."

"Wonderful. What's your name?"

"My name? It's, err…Harry."

A black brow rose. "Harry, eh? Nice name. I once knew a kid by that name…" his eyes turned glossy. When the jailer failed to speak or move for several seconds, Harry blinked and tilted his head, trying to get another look at the man. When he began to bore, he snapped his fingers, shocking the jailer out of his stupor.

"Wha! Eh…what was I saying? Oh yeah, Harry. Anyway, where are you from?"

"You probably haven't heard of it. It's really far away," Harry blushed sheepishly.

"I've been through a lot, and I've heard a lot. Try me."

"Er…it's a place called…London."

A spark appeared in the jailer's eyes and his lips began widening before he blinked and shook himself, as a dog does to remove water from its fur. A puzzled, lost look replaced the initial recognition.

"London? I think I've heard of it. It's pretty big, is it not? And right in the center, there is a massive castle that was used as a prison?"

Shocked, Harry nodded. "Yes, the Tower of London. How'd you know?"

At that, the jailer smirked. "I get by, kid. As I said, been through a lot, and heard a lot. We'll talk later, yeah?" With a wink and a spring in his step, the jailer departed, whistling his way down the hall. Harry was left alone.

* * *

All things considered, it was far nicer than his old cell. There was plenty of light, the sparse furnishings were clean, and the air was dry and warm, a complete contrast to the darkness, filth, and dankness of Azkaban. Carefully standing up and moving to recline on his 'bed', Harry was unable to find anything egregious in his surroundings. His head lay itself down on a thin pillow. _The bed is uncomfortable, though_. He got up and tried to cast a cushioning charm, but he kept slipping up at just the last moment.

_Concentrate, Harry_, he mentally berated himself. Drawing from his magic, he uttered the incantation and tried to expel the magic towards the bed, to do his bidding. Yet the magic stubbornly refused to leave his body, as if his skin was a tight-fisted cage.

"_Aresto Momentum,"_ he intoned, but not even a spark of magic left him. Could he really be having difficulties with wandless magic _now_, when he needed it most? Oromis had made him forgo his wand for _weeks_, and he'd been fine! He'd cast more powerful spells and trickier charms wandlessly than _this_!

"_Aresto Momentum!"_ He yelled. Nothing. Despite all his will and determination, nothing happened. Why? He could still remember Hermione, as much as he hated her now, lecturing him and Ron about wandless magic. "_Wandless magic is simple! It just requires two major things that most witches and wizards lack: familiarity with the spell, and a strong will and determination. Emotion can substitute that on occasion, though – it's why children do accidental magic. Children feel emotions very strongly and can hold that emotion long enough for their subconscious to perform magic."_ After quoting from her book, she then upbraided him and Ron about the need to learn wandless magic just before Bill and Fleur's wedding, while they were at the Burrow.

Yet he _was_ familiar with the spell, and he _had_ the determination to perform wandless magic. He'd had it since they were on the run. What was going on?

"_Lumos"_, he demanded, waiting for the ball of light to appear. It never did.

"_Alohamora,"_ he tried on the cell door. While it was possible that the door was protected against such simple unlocking charms, it was probably that he hadn't succeeded in the spell.

"_Wingardium Leviosa,_" he vainly attempted on the pillow. The spell was successful at disappointing him further.

After the last attempt - a _first-year charm for Merlin's sake!_ – Harry was ready to throw in the towel. He lay back on the uncomfortable bed, hands crossed behind his head – the pillow was _very_ thin, and the mattress was flat-out uncomfortable.

Everything seemed to go find right up until the point where the magic had to leave his body. Then the spells all fizzled. He didn't like his earlier description, but the idea of his magic being caged within his body made…sense…as a way to describe his situation.

…_Would spells work if they functioned within his body?_ The thought both pleased and chilled him. On one hand, it was at least a _starting point_. On the other, the only way to test it that came to mind was human transfiguration, and he didn't want to make a gamble on something that could end so horribly wrong.

Perhaps changing his eye color? But that spell had to leave his hand and be sent into his eye. And, Harry worried grimly, it might damage his eyesight. It wasn't worth the risk.

What if he just went to sleep? That all happened internally. Moreover, he had nothing to do, and Harry _hated_ boredom with a vengeance beyond all else. It could work.

Laying on the bed in preparation, Harry closed his eyes. _"Somnus,"_ he whispered. He instantly grew lax, his muscles releasing all their tension, and the wizard entered into a slumber.

* * *

The jailer had a deep blue aura about him.

It was probably a good thing that Harry was groggy after his spelled sleep. Otherwise, the sight of the jailer hovering over him would've shot him awake, causing him to shoot up, his skull connecting violently with that of his jailer. Instead, Harry merely opened his eyes, spied the blue aura, and smiled crookedly in a manner that confused the jailer, who shrugged it off and continued shaking his prisoner awake.

"Wakey wakey, little Harry," the jailer cooed.

"M' _not_ little," he protested.

"You're not the one who's curled up in a ball still half-asleep. You were sleeping pretty soundly, actually. Any good dreams?"

The question earned him a bizarre look, as Harry threw off the dregs of sleep. "You're not serious. What kind of question is that?"

The jailer made a strange look, before leaning in to lock eyes with Harry. "I assure you, I _am_ serious. Dead serious. Now, if you'd like to change the subject, I brought you lunch." He brought a cart into view, wheeling it towards the cell doors, and Harry's eyebrows rose into his hairline.

The cart was luxurious. It looked to be made of glass, yet it was far more durable. Strengthening wards, perhaps? But what person would waste energy strengthening a _glass_ cart? And the food looked amazing. A steaming hot pie lay with pristine silver cutlery that positively gleamed, and on a fine china plate. Harry had never _heard_ of a prison like this. _Unless this is where the Azkaban money goes_, he thought ruefully.

"Here you go," the jailer said, wheeling the cart in front of Harry. "Steak-and-kidney pie."

Harry stared blankly at the plate before him. "Go ahead," the jailer insisted, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture to the pie. "Dig in."

The wizard grasped the knife and cut through the crust. A pool of juice dribbled forth, slowly soaking in. He raised the knife and cut again, stabbing the free slice with his fork and raising it to his lips. After a brief sniff to savor the scent, he ate, slowly chewing, and audibly swallowing. The heat of the pie settled comfortably in the pit of his stomach, and Harry suddenly became ravenous. A flurry of cuts and forkfuls later, the pie was two-thirds gone and Harry was feeling a stomachache, nauseous at the very thought of eating more.

"Yeesh." The blunt word stunned him out of his reverie, and the wizard remembered that there was someone in the cell with him. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Breakfast?" The innocent comment launched the jailer into a peel of laughter, and it confused Harry. What was so funny?

"You were unconscious for two days, Harry. Breakfast was a long time ago."

"Don't you have anyone else to see to?" It was the day after he'd woken up in this cell with the strange jailer tending to him, and while Harry didn't have any notable complaints, he was starting to become curious. If this was a prison, where were the other prisoners?

"Nope. You're the only one here," his jailer responded.

"Is this really a prison?"

"Technically. Every castle needs a few holding cells, just in case. Your being brought here, for example. Tori asked me to do this, since everyone else is too busy. I didn't see any reason to object, and now that you're conscious, you're not bad company."

"Ah. Okay," Harry assented. After a brief pause, he wondered. "Who is Tori?"

A rosy blush graced his jailer's cheeks. "Tori is…well…erm, you see…"

"She's your beloved, isn't she," Harry guessed.

"_He_. But you got it in one," the jailer conceded, as he fought his blush away.

"How'd you meet?" Harry asked, after he shrugged off his jailer's momentary surprise.

"Er….maybe I'll tell you the story later, if you're still around," the jailer decided. "Let's just say that it was a sudden, unexpected meeting. Very awkward for both of us. But eventually we moved past that, and I've had no reason to look back since. What about you? Anyone special back home? Hmm?" He teased.

Any happiness vanished from Harry's face, and the shadows under his eyes grew darker. "No. No one…" He blinked, his eyes suddenly hot, and gulped. "I used to think there was someone, but…I could never forgive her."

Grey eyes widened. "What happened?"

The wizard shook his head. "It doesn't matter. She betrayed me. If it weren't for her, I'd…" He paused, his eyes growing larger as remembrance and revelation hit him. "…I'd be taking care of my godson." A single tear escaped, sliding down and soaking into his cheek. The jailer cautiously extended an arm, wrapping it around the wizard's shoulders, and held him, offering silent support as the apple raisin pie he'd brought grew cold.

* * *

_Fin_

_And now, I'll answer some of the questions and comments asked in the reviews._

_Elemental Dragon Slayer: Duly noted. You'll like what I have planned, I think.  
Dymian: Maybe. Harry only bends so far before he snaps, though.  
Purple Sky Always: Hadn't thought of that. I'll have to consider Oromis's death (or lack thereof) when I get a beta/consultant.  
Shadowlynx: What do you think? (I love being cryptic/ambiguous)  
Blackravens5: Trying to bring Anglo-American history into NWNH is something I seriously regret. The War of 1812 wasn't clear-cut, though. The Treaty of Ghent was a return to status quo ante, more than anything else. Neither side 'won' outright.  
Thatwaslame: Could food be transported to the trunk, though?  
il2read: I receive reviews on my phone (mailbox). They're always fun to read.  
Toby860: I'd rather leave religious references out. HP has zero mentions of religion in canon, and I'm personally not familiar with christianity.  
KDTBpantherwulf: Can you really imagine Harry, a mature man, being in love with Eragon, who is immature and slow on the scale of Ron Weasley? I can't picture it.  
Gavoon: There are a lot of things I regret about the first half of NWNH, before I matured as a person and got a grip on myself. I'm trying to figure out how to realistically retcon that.  
Luke Dragneel: When I get back to talking about Britain in the Interludes, we'll cover that. Need to discuss with my beta/consultant, whenever I get one.  
Philip: Harry's Animagus form is already decided. It's not avian.  
Beezlebubbles: Don't worry. Harry isn't involved in slash._

_I regret a lot of things about the first half of NWNH. I won't change it, because that would insult everyone who has followed me until now. But I will say that if I could have a do-over...there are a bunch of facets that I crammed in there because I was younger, less mature, and caught up in fanfiction tropes. _

_Also: I have an account on Archive of Our Own. At some point, I'll start putting this story up there, editing out the parts I would've done-over. The username is the same as it is here._

_Before anyone comments about the slash reference involving the jail guard: Something that disappoints me about most fics is that everyone is either het or slash. That's not how the world works, and I see no reason why fics shouldn't portray a more realistic picture - where all kinds of relationships co-exist. If you'd like to have a discussion about my choices or about fanfiction in general, feel free to PM me. I'd love to seriously discuss these things with someone._

_I promise I'll update before summer's end. I have most of the ideas for Interlude 3 down on paper by now._


	14. A Status Update

A Status Update

It's been over 3 years since I published the first chapter of NWNH. Three. Whole. Years. In that time, I've relished being a writer on FFN. It's been a lot of fun, and I've connected with a number of people whom I'm glad to have met. I'm happy to have created a story that so many people have enjoyed. Every time I publish a new chapter, I'm constantly surprised by the love that continues to be shown.

Having said that, I don't plan to continue working on NWNH. It's a struggle to write – not because I don't know _what_ will occur in the story, but because I can't muster the motivation to care. A golden rule is to write about things that capture your interest, and I've lost all interest in the Inheritance Cycle.

Moreover, I've found other outlets for writing that I enjoy.

When I first wrote NWNH, I did so in part to be rebellious. My high school English teacher had denigrated me and my writing ability the year prior, and this was my way of proving that teacher wrong. I'm incredibly grateful for the positive responses I got; it reaffirmed my confidence in my writing, something that has enabled me to do so much more in the years since. My writing has evolved in a plethora of ways, something that I think is blatantly apparent when one compares Chapter 1 to Chapter 11 (#13 in the dropdown list).

Now that I'm older, more mature, and more critical, I'm actually embarrassed by a lot of what I've done throughout NWNH. I can see my mindless devotion to tired tropes in the earlier chapters, my clumsy attempts to merge the two 'verses in the middle chapters, and a sense of fatigue and embarrassment thereafter. Need I list the foibles?

As much as I hate to leave it unfinished, when I'm honest with myself, I know that I have no plans to properly finish NWNH, and as much as it may hurt to see a story unfinished, I imagine it also hurts readers to see it in limbo, never sure if I'll return out of nowhere with a new chapter every blue moon.

If there's a serious interest, I _could_ piece together a bulleted list of my (loose) plans for the remainder of the story, to serve as an awkward epilogue. Please let me know in the reviews if that's something you want to see. (I'm also open to someone 'adopting' the story, but I'm not going to search for an adopter.)

In any case, thank you to all my readers. For everything.

With Gratitude,

_T.R.P_


	15. Unfinished Plans & Ideas

_A couple quick notes: I've been reading all the comments in the reviews & via PMs. I haven't been replying, for the most part, but I have read and reflected on all of them. There are a couple slight misconceptions I'd hope to clarify:_

_- a few have questioned the embarrassment I noted, confusing that for to be my reason for discontinuing NWNH. It's not that I think the story is horrible - what I meant was that I recognize a lot of things in the first half that, if I had a do-over, would be changed. I'm surprised at how well thought-out it is, how many subtleties of language my chapter notes included. Whenever I read the last 4-5 chapters, I completely understand why it became as popular as it is. (over 250,000 hits, in a category that had 30 stories when I started and still has less than 100.) I take pride in NWNH; that doesn't mean I have to ignore its blemishes._

_- To be honest, if I were insecure about my writing ability. I'd still be writing NWNH. I know, it's ironic. My decreasing interest in NWNH has in part been because I've gained more confidence in my writing. I work as a writing tutor now in college. NWNH is no longer my sole writing outlet._

_- I don't advise anyone to hold out hopes for an adoption. I would have high standards for any would-be adopter, and I've also seen really mixed results with adoptions. (Example: "It's Not Easy" by Ashvarden) In my view, it's better to have an unfinished work that evokes fond memories than to have an adoption that leads to mixed reactions. (Does anyone know of a successful adoption? I'd love to read it and see what kinds of changes occurred.)_

_- If I ever decide to write another fic, you'll all be the first to know. From my current vantage point, however, it's unlikely. Writing fanfiction no longer fills a unique niche in my life._

* * *

**Unfinished NWNH Ideas:**

* * *

Create two ongoing, complementary stories with Wizarding Britain and Alagaesia, where the issues mirror each other in some respects. (pacing, narrative tension, themes, etc.)

* * *

**The Interludes:**

Britain was going to present a campaign by QE2 to dramatically change wizarding culture. As the second interlude alluded to, this campaign was going to be met with a mixture of confusion and zealous opposition, and could easily become embroiled in controversy. Key plot points (and flashpoints) would be Teddy Lupin's custody trial, the criminal trials against those listed in Interlude 2, and the counter-campaign by purebloods, including a third reign of terror by death eaters.

I never really wrote my ideas for Wizarding Britain. In some ways, it would resemble the civil rights movement in the US; a dramatic overhaul of the legal code and societal structures in order to make things more equal, but which inspires endless opposition by those who benefit from the current system – i.e. the purebloods who dominate society. In other ways, it would result in a third wave of Death Eaters who inflict terror in an attempt to combat QE2's changes. I hadn't quite worked out how the Death Eaters would be crushed, and how QE2's public image would be affected as a result.

The increased stature of goblins (as QE2's principal magical advisors), the breakdown in structural inequality between muggleborns and purebloods, and the complete reinvention of the Ministry of Magic would all play subtle but important roles.

One of my more interesting ideas was to have _Death Eaters themselves_, in one of their attacks, inadvertently expose the magical world. I don't know of any fics that actually depict in real-time the reaction & subsequent actions by muggle governments when they learn of their magical counterparts, but I know it would be chaotic. And thus fun to write and examine.

* * *

To be clear: QE2 would become a highly flawed character. Ultimately good, but flawed.

QE2 would lose the custody battle for Teddy Lupin on a technicality or other such nonsense, and purebloods would rejoice. This puts them in the awkward position of supporting a werewolf child and a disowned, disgraced blood traitor (Andromeda) who married a _muggle_, but they would support Andromeda and Teddy if only to spite QE2.

After that defeat, QE2, with goblins' aid, would review existing law and alter the legal code to ensure her victory in all future criminal trials. Her status as Monarch lets her unilaterally strike down laws & statutes and rewrite them to her satisfaction. While it would mete out justice, it would also be an abuse of power. She'd effectively control the legislative and executive branches in order to force the judiciary into handing her victory. (Hence why I say she'd be a flawed character.)

Ultimately, Teddy would grow up and go to a drastically different Hogwarts. However, via betrayal and subterfuge, he'd end up thrown into Azkaban and later forced through the Veil; thus he ends up in Alagaesia, as Blagden's prophecy predicted.

* * *

**On the Alagaesia Side:**

I'll first explain Blagden's prophecy (reprinted below):

_Only Cold and Memories Await / As Dog and Deer / Will the Wolf Follow_

"Cold and Memories" refers to Dementors. Dog & Deer refer to Sirius & Harry, and the Wolf is Teddy. Basically, Teddy will suffer the same fate as his godfather and his godfather's godfather, being betrayed, declared a criminal, imprisoned in Azkaban, and later thrown into the Veil. Since he was also betrayed, he ends up in Alagaesia, like the other two. (insert confusion-filled reunion as the epilogue)

* * *

To anyone who didn't get my hints: Harry's jailer is Sirius, and his partner is Galbatorix.

Harry would gradually become more comfortable with Sirius, not quite recognizing his real identity. (Harry has believed Sirius dead for 6 years; he wouldn't make the connection with the Veil unless prompted.) Eventually, he would break out but not escape. Sirius or Galbatorix would stop him in time, and there would be a teary reunion as Harry recognizes his godfather. Harry might confess to being a Rider; I hadn't decided if/how Sirius & Galbatorix would learn of that.

* * *

Regarding Harry's (potential) relationship(s): I had nothing romantic planned. I did warm up to the idea of a platonic (not-quite-romantic) pairing with Sol; in writing the dialogue in Chapter 9, I just felt like there could be chemistry. It seemed to have potential. One option was for Sol to like Harry, but for Harry to not reciprocate those feelings in a romantic/sexual way. It's something I hadn't decided, and I figured it would sort itself out as I continued writing these characters.

After Harry's disappearance, I figured that Islanzadi would assume the worst, and that Sol & Oromis would _fear_ for the worst. (i.e., Islanzadi assumes betrayal, Sol & Oromis assume abduction/death). Nasuada, when she pries Harry's Rider status out of Eragon, would become fearful: she has no lever of control over Harry, and feels insecure because of that.

It was never a guarantee that the Varden/Elves would actually win outright. Harry would become nervous about Sirius's (and by extension Galbatorix's) situation as the Varden gained ground. He'd certainly play a key role in any stalemate or peace agreement. One thought was that the two sides _would_ reach a deadlock, and Harry would use his connections on both sides to force them into negotiations (guilt card with Sirius, friendship with Oromis/Sol/Eragon.) Galbatorix might even succeed outright, and since he wouldn't force Eragon & Murtagh to fight (he'd be taken by Harry's abilities, like he was with Sirius's), he wouldn't be defeated. The desperation that lets Eragon cast that final spell would never have materialized.

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**Unused Idea List**:

When I write chapters, I usually create long lists of ideas for scenes, emotions, interpersonal relationships, etc. Here's everything I had that didn't get put into the previous chapter, or that I planned on including in the future: (Literally copy-pasted, with a few elaborations, from those "idea list" documents:

Arya thinks that Harry is from the past – "may the Deeply Betrayed be given life **anew**" – thus, brought to the future or reincarnation. (Only Harry knows that it's another world)

Maybe have Arya confront/discuss with Sol? Ask him to keep her informed of anything important?

* * *

Harry doesn't really believe that King Orrin is a king.

(He was so skeptical when Orrin tried to take the egg. If someone gives him an update on the Varden's situation, or he comes into contact with Orrin during negotiations between Galbatorix and the Varden, have a mini-scene where Harry questions: "Wait, he was _serious_ when he said he was a King?")

* * *

Nasuada isn't trustworthy – and she constantly grills Eragon about Harry & the egg. Wants to know if it hatched.

Eragon is torn between loyalty to Nasuada and not wanting to break Harry's trust, since he's the only other Rider on their side.

Saphira steps in – her sole interest is protecting the dragon, and she never swore loyalty to Nasuada. Only Eragon did. She'll take unspeakable measures if Nasuada presses.

Orrin & Nasuada are suspicious of Arya because she's in more contact with Harry.

* * *

Someone points out Harry's pointy ears when he accidentally undoes the glamour (like the _finite incantatem_ from Chapter 8/10). Harry quickly reapplies it and tells the person not to mention it.

Have _Sirius_ see past the glamour at some point. Commence freakout that Harry was _also_ in Azkaban.

Eragon refuses to let the pointy ears lie (since it takes _forever_ for a human Rider to develop them), and Harry blows up.

- They're a symbol of everything that's _wrong_ with him.

- He only has them because of the power boost for doing the inheritance at 21. Which itself only was delayed because of his stay in Azkaban. It reminds him of the friends who betrayed him.

- The ears remind him that he's not in Britain, that he's not where he should be. He should be with _family_, he should be with _Teddy_. He should be somewhere where he _doesn't_ see elves' pointy ears all day long.

- Harry argues that Eragon is lucky - all his scars disappeared. But Harry still retains all of his, and they bring back horrible memories every time he looks at them.

* * *

When Harry notices the Sorcerer's Stone (never actually destroyed) in his trunk, he's overjoyed.

- It's his financial security **forever**. (Turn any metal into _gold_).

- Because of the stone, Harry has financial weight to throw around as he pleases.

- If Orrin threatens to pull-back support for the Varden, Harry could step in to make an offer…with his own conditions and restrictions. (Selling cheap lace can't support the entire Varden when wartime makes everyone more impoverished _anyway_.)

* * *

Have an interlude about Sirius meeting Galbatorix

- the Veil dumped Sirius in Galbatorix's castle. Bellatrix's curse leaves Sirius critically injured, so Galbatorix heals him.

- He then tries to keep Sirius in the castle, with mixed success. Eventually, it's the fact that Sirius brought nothing with him that keeps him tethered to Galbatorix.

- They test their magic against each other. Their styles are so different that neither can permanently defeat the other. For both, it's like trying to trap water in a strainer.

- Sirius becomes Tori's confidante. Tori effectively becomes Sirius's therapist.

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_If there are any questions that this hasn't answered, PM me or leave a review and I'll answer them. Just keep in mind that the answer may be that I don't know. Not _everything_ was already decided._


End file.
